


Deals We Make

by Rockswindandtrees



Series: Resurrection Series [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Dalish Origin, Drama, F/M, Human Noble Origin, Human Sacrifice, Mage Origin, Old Gods (Dragon Age), Precognition, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-18 06:24:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 38,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4695539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rockswindandtrees/pseuds/Rockswindandtrees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Book 1 of the Resurrection Series</p><p>She always thought her life would be nothing more than a boring routine. A set path dictated by both her gender and her noble blood. </p><p>How wrong she had been, how willfully naïve. Someone with her abilities could only dream to live quietly and out of sight. This dream was destroyed the day a Warden came crashing into her life, bringing with him a dying elf.</p><p>She would soon learn that happiness, hope and love were never an option for her – they were meant for someone else.<br/>But hate – hate was always an option for her.</p><p> </p><p>AU: Where Duncan hedges his bets and recruits two people instead of one. A Cousland noble and Dalish hunter are now forced to save Ferelden from a force beyond their control. Anger drives them both to find a solution to their problems - too bad they each have a very different idea on what that problem actually is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Risky Business

Duncan wondered if he was doing the right thing by taking the elf out of the cave instead of leaving him to die - he had very little time to spare and the elf was infected with the taint.  It was ironic that even the Dalish had to deal with the spawn of human corruption. 

He shifted his weight to compensate for the hunter’s body; the male elf was not like the city ones who were mostly all bone.  Duncan grunted as sweat dripped down his brow, this man was full of muscle and his lean form was deceptive – he was beginning to regret taking the extra weight. This attribute was great for battle, _and recruit material_ he thought, but not for being carried.

 _I wonder how long until the rest of his clan finds me?_   He had come looking for aid against the blight, but given his situation, he doubted the clan would welcome him with open arms. While this may have been one of his more…riskier plans, Maker knew he had done worse.  That was why he was heading in the direction of the last known Dalish aravels rather than to Redcliff; recklessness often brought him luck.  

As his previous commander used to say, “The risk was worth the gain” but what did he have to lose? A few years to his already tiring life, the calling was singing to him and he often caught himself humming under his breath.

What the younger recruits seemed to have no concept of was the fact that recklessness often toed the line of foolery. Duncan was no fool, and had enough experience with elves to assume they knew he had been in their woods - knew he was on his way.

A quick glance at the elf’s face told him that time was running thin.  The man was obviously in pain, but Duncan was unsure for how long he would last.  He slipped on a rock and was forced, yet again, to hoist the body back on his shoulder - the man’s braid fell into his face.  Duncan thought himself a cultured and accepting man, but he could never understand why the Dalish men insisted on having long hair. Brushing the strand aside he continued to trample through the woods and made a point of snapping as many twigs and stopping on as many roots as possible.  His efforts were fruitful.

Bird calls came from his left and then were immediately answered on his right.  _They were fast_ , thought Duncan as he tried to guess how many elves surrounded him.  Even though he knew they were there, he could not see a trace of the hunters. With a huff Duncan place the sick man at his feet and raised his hands away from the daggers on his back.

“I mean no harm friends; I simply wish to return this man to his Keeper.”

“We are not your friend, Shem!” Duncan turned and saw four hunters come from around the large trees, arrows pointed to his chest.  It must have been the cocksure hunter, the one with the thin scar across his cheek that spoke to him. He wore the cruel smirk of a bully, one that thought he had won a fight. A cruel smirk stretched his tanned face, and blond hair shortly cropped accentuated his sharp elven features.

“Enough Da’len, we are not ones to place judgement on this man, it is for the Keeper. “ Duncan’s eyes shifted to the oldest in the group, “We may not need to worry” the elf that stepped forward was at least ten years senior of the hotheaded youth, “You are a Grey Warden are you not?”

Duncan’s eyebrow raised a fraction, “Indeed I am, my name is Duncan and I seek to have council with your elders.”  He couldn’t deny how surprised he was that this elf knew he was a Grey Warden.

“We will take you to our camp.” The older elf came forward and slung his clan mate on to his shoulder, giving Duncan a stern look full of ice and steel.  “If you prove false… _friend_ ,” the term was uttered with barely veiled mistrust, “then we will kill you faster than you can blink.”

With the customary Dalish threat out of the way, Duncan took a few steps back from the hunter and eyed the man’s young entourage.  It was encouraging that they had lowered their weapons, but their faces still held disdain.

It took five hours to make it back to their aravels - night fires were just starting to be lit and small children ran around excitedly enjoying the last moments of the day.  As Duncan and his ‘escort’ entered the clearing, people stopped to stare at the group, most eyes trained on Duncan.  His broad form towered over the other elves and his darker skin and hair bespoke of his foreign heritage.  He thought he could make out the sounds of mothers shushing their children and telling them to go into their respective tents.  At least that is what he thought they were saying, the language was foreign to him and all he heard the fast repetitions of melodious syllables.

“What has happened Vannael?” An older elf slowly stepped out of her hut, her shrewd eyes scanned over the group, coming to rest on him, “What is wrong with our hunter …and what of this human?” 

Her grey hair denoted her age, and by the way she was dressed, Duncan was positive she was the clan Keeper.  She came close and took the sick elf’s face in her hands and closed her eyes. She pulled back immediately, “How is this possible, he is full of dark magics?”  She looked from one elf to another and when she received no answer, she trained them on Duncan. 

He replied with a bowed head, “I am afraid, Keeper, that I found this young lad at the entrance of a cave. The fever was already running fierce within him when I arrived.  I know not the cause of his taint, but I brought him to you as fast as I could”

The Keeper took her hands away from the boy, and crossed her arms.  He felt like fidgeting under the woman’s intense glare, but thought better of it. “You are a Warden then, sent to warn us of the blight I take it?” her voiced held a slight twinge of sarcasm.

“Yes and … no, however that is a discussion for another time, I am afraid if we tarry any longer you will have no hope of saving him.” 

At her nod, Duncan watched as the other men carried the body off to a tent - the Keeper at their heels.  He truly did wonder if the man was going to survive the initial stages of the taint, the fever alone killed more than half of those infected, and that was before the transformation stage. Duncan hope the elf would survive, he needed recruits and he needed then now.

It would be interesting to see how the whole situation played out. Conscription was all well and good, but there was always the chance of a run away. If this elf could survive the initial stages of the blight and take to the joining ritual successfully, then Duncan had another way to get recruits. Volunteers were few and far between, and conscription had been his only alternative – an unpopular one. But if people were to…tragically and mysteriously get infected, _well ,_ then the Order would be there to offer salvation in the form of a Joining.

Duncan made his way to the edge of the camp; tomorrow he would come back to the Dalish and check on the boy.

 


	2. Waking Nightmare

It felt like an axe to the head; pain so intense it overwhelmed his mind.  He must have died and been brought before the Dread Wolf, for who else would cause so much torment. Shadowy figures floated at the edges of his vision and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He spun to face these apparitions and was presented with images of friends and family, but quickly these friends changed into creatures of rotting flesh and evil smiles. Leric wanted so badly to be out of this barren landscape and escape the creatures that perused him, why had the Dread Wolf banished him to this nightmare?

_"Leric...Leric..."_

It was chilling, the way his name was whispered. It seemed to come from all around him and he ran blindly towards the dark forest to escape their taunting.  He tripped and landed face first into the soft ground. Startled, Leric got up and took in his environment; the forest resembled the place he grew up in, all lush and green, but the closer he looked the more he noticed that the beautiful trees were surrounded by darker shadows. His named was howled this time and Leric sprung from his position -  No matter where he ran, the voices followed him. 

“Tamlen!” he screamed.

Tamlen had been with him, hadn't he? They were supposed to be hunting together...but then something had happened, it must have, to cause Tamlen to suddenly disappear. A rustling to his left had Leric reaching back for his bow. His hands met nothing but air.

His clan brother stepped out from behind a tree “Were you looking for me?”  Tamlen stood before him right at the edge of the shadows. Leric went to take a step forward, but something just did not seem right. Perhaps it was the way Tamlen stood unnaturally stiff or the way his skin seemed...wrong. Tamlen's eyes narrowed, “What’s wrong?” his hesitation had not gone unnoticed.

“You had we worried lethallin, I thought you were dead,” said Leric.

Tamlen laughed and stepped forward, clasping Leric’s arm. In that moment everything seemed fine, the ghoulish appearance of his friend had melted away with his warm smile. Leric returned the greeting, terribly happy his friend was with him now, and his earlier foolishness brought a blush to his face.

“Leric you’re acting like those city Shems." Tamlen draped an arm around him, "Here, in this forest, you and I are safe, we don’t have to worry about anything - not anymore.” Tamlen’s smooth features slide into a bright smile, “Come with me, I want to show you something amazing.”

He could not deny that Tamlen’s enthusiasm was infectious and he too was curious to see what his friend had found. However every step he took made his shoulder’s tense, made him feel nervous. Leric just could not shake his earlier apprehension – this whole situation was too strange, he felt like he had done this before, but…somehow differently. It was like watching a memory that had taken a life of its own; shades of the true events, but in colours unrecognizable.

He shook his head, _This is ridiculous, and I am being childish_. With that thought in mind, Leric found himself following Tamlen further into the forest. Still, despite his intentions, Leric was unable to make it any further as the pain returned to his head.  He had not even noticed the throbbing had disappeared until it’s incessant pounding, low and powerful, returned. 

Noise started to accompany the beat, and at first, Leric thought it was his heart hammering away.   However the longer it continued the clearer it became and it was not the hammering of his heart. Leric pulled away from Tamlen and lifted his head to the sky. Yes… he could make it out now - words were being spoken, a high clear voice was whispering something, but he just couldn’t grasp it. 

“Well are you coming or not? We don’t have much time left.”  Tamlen reached out and squeezed his bicep. With a vice like grip, Leric was steered towards a deeper part of the woods. “We are going to have so much fun, think of the adventure…..” He was distracted by the very tight grip on his arm. He tried to pull it away, but Tamlen’s hold was unmovable. Even at Leric’s weakest moments, Tamlen would have never been able to push him around; where Tamlen was all wiry muscle, Leric was broader and less lean. So it begged the question - since when had Tamlen grown so strong? 

Again a whispering of voices broke through his haze, it caused his head to snap up into the grey sky. “Come on!” Tamlen’s voice was stern and deep. Gone was the happy smile, instead his face was one of tempered anger.  Leric was startled by the transformation and tried to pull away again.

“I. Said. Move!”  Tamlen roughly pushed him forward.

At the exact moment he was pushed, Leric felt a pressure grabbed his midsection. Phantom arms encircled his chest and swiftly started to pull him backward.  Trees sped by as he moved through the landscape. He had no control of the motion, and was terrified of where he was heading.  His vision narrowed, black shadows merging together as his head lolled back.

“No! You are MINE! You betrayed ME and left me to DIE! You will not leave me here alone!” Tamlen screamed as he tried to follow Leric. Hatred and fury coloured Tamlen’s face as he pumped his arms, but every second he was drifting further and further away. 

Abruptly the screaming ended, and his motion stopped. It felt like he was floating in a warm breeze, all the pain in his head slowly melting away.  An involuntary sigh left him as he closed his eyes –this sensation reminded him of home. All he wanted to do was relax into the nothingness, let his mind float in the air like his body.

“ _You must wake up Da’len”_

 

* * *

 

Leric gasped as he sat up. It was too bright for his eyes and the air too sharp in his lungs – he heaved breath after breath, looking around in a dazed wonder.  He didn’t know where he was, and it only fueled his panic. With shaky arms he tried to lift his weight off of what seemed to be an old cot.

 _Where is Tamlen_? He wondered

A hand softly touched his back and caused him to start.  He looked behind him only to be met with the calm and worried face of his Keeper.  Her wrinkled skin showed all her years, all the tragedies she had seen.

“Be calm, Da’len” she lifted her hands in a placating manner, “You are safe here. Peace”. She rubbed his tense shoulders, trying to smooth away his worry with cleansing magic.

Leric was anything but calm, there was a gap in his memories from when he and Tamlen found the creepy mirror until now.  He pushed the keeper’s hand away and tried to stand. The room spun and his arms gave out beneath him, bile rising up his throat as he landed softly on the woolen blankets. He clenched his fists, willing away the nausea.

“Leric you must not strain your body.” She took advantage of his weak state and pushed him further into the cot, “You won’t survive it” she murmured.

“What happened? Where is Tamlen?” 

The old women seemed to age at his question, a pained look came across her face. “Your clan brother,” her breath hitched, “He is gone.”

“What do you mean gone?”

She looked down, avoiding his gaze, “Whatever you found in that cave, was filled with old magic corrupted by age and decay” she placed a hand on his head, combing back his hair, “this corruption is now in you, I am afraid. The Shemlen who brought you here called it Blight sickness. I was barely able to bring you back from the darkness that clung to you.” She stilled her hands, “Tamlen was never found. If he was in the same state as you…the time for saving him has passed.”

The Keeper’s words played over and over in his head.  How had he become infected, what did she mean Tamlen was gone?  A confused look must have crossed Leric’s face because the keeper patted his cheek and said, “Stay here, young one, and rest. I will go get this Warden Shem, the man who found you.”

With that, the Keeper left her aravel with Leric stared at the door.  He felt tight, his heart and soul aching for his lost friend.  A quick prayer to his gods was muttered under his breath – praying for Tamlen to find safety and welcoming in the Fade. He shuddered at the memory of his fever dream, how angry Tamlen had been. Golden light caused him to shield his eyes and the aravel’s canvas was pulled aside, a  dark haired man ducked inside, his eyes focused on Leric.  Leric’s fingers twitched for his bow, an automatic self-preservation mechanism whenever he came into contact with Shem. Especially armed Shems as this one was; the stranger, or rather Warden, certainly looked the part of a warrior with his daggers and strange silver armor. 

The man tilted his head in greeting, “It is good to see the Keeper’s healing was able to keep you in the land of the living.” His eyes slowly took in Leric’s prone form, cool and assessing.

Leric’s cheeks flushed with anger, “Who are you and what have you done with Tamlen?” 

Dark eyes narrowed at Leric’s hostility, “My name is Duncan.” The man crouched down in front of him, “I do not know how much your Keeper informed you. I am a Grey Ward – “

“Yes, a Grey Warden I know – get to the point Shem, I want to know where Tamlen is!” his raised voice could be heard outside of the caravan.

Duncan crossed his arms, a dark brow rose incredulously, “Are you quiet finished interrupting?” when no response came, he continued, “I came to the woods in search of a Dalish recruit; your people’s proclivities for violence are well known. While I was traveling, I came across a cave that oozed the Taint. I was intent on slaying darkspawn, so you can imagine my surprise when I came across a body, your body, in the caves.  As for this other elf, Tamlen I think you said his name was, well I saw no one else but you.”

Angry and disappointed,  Leric pushed off the bed and went to grab his quiver.  He swayed and grabbed the wall for support. Hands were on him again, “What are you doing Leric! Be still or the taint will move faster!” The Keeper tried to push him back down.

He pushed her off and shook his head, trying to get his bearings. When had the Keeper come back? His inability to focus on his surroundings was maddening.

“If this human…” Leric spat the word as he waved to Duncan, “Knows nothing of Tamlen, then he could still be out there sick and injured.”

The Keeper sighed, “And you will do this on your own, will you? At least use some sense Da’len, let the clan search for the boy.” Something must have shown on Leric’s face, for the Keeper stepped back and threw her hand in the air, “I can see you are set on this path – tell us of this cave”

The Keeper and Duncan sat patiently as Leric recalled his earlier travels. How both Tamlen and he had found the humans in the forest and gone in search of the treasure cave once the Shemlens were killed.  He had to pause when trying to describe the unnatural feel of the environment full of corpses and monsters, he could still feel the stale air on his breath, the stench of decay.  When he finally got to the part about the magical mirror, he could see Duncan’s interest peak.  He pushed for details about the mirror, but all Leric could remember was the location of the artifact and Tamlen touching it.

“If you are so adamant on going to the cave again, then fine, but take my apprentice.  She can help better analyse this mirror and keep you from dropping dead”

Leric nodded enthusiastically and was glad he had the Keeper’s blessing, not that it would have changed his mind either way. With the Keeper’s assistance, he shakily strapped on his brown and black leather armour, placing his secret dagger on the inside fold of his tunic.  The Dalish leather fit tightly across his chest, only to loosen at his arms. His arm guards and boots were woven with protective encasement of leather decorated with intricate vine designs.  He remembered how Tamlen had helped him design this outfit out when they had become hunters together.

“I will also accompany you. If what you say is true, then the mirror may be how the Darkspawn are coming into this area.”  With that, Duncan stepped outside before Leric could even think to argue at the human’s intrusion. 

 _They are such an obnoxious race_ , he thought as he strung his bow and filled his quiver with arrows.  Leric was a skilled warrior with blade, but his passion was archery like many of his clan mates.  Tamlen used to laugh at Leric, saying that if Leric had to choose between spending time with a woman or in the archery range, the latter would always win.  Pushing such thoughts aside, Leric strode out of the aravel and into the early morning light. He would find Tamlen, one way or another.

 

* * *

It was well into the night before Leric and the others returned to the Dalish camp. At the questioning stares of his breatherin, he could only shake his head with shame filled eyes. Now he stood, staring into the blazing bonfire – the honorary funeral fire for his fallen friend. Leric had found no sign of Tamlen and now trusted the Grey Warden when he said his clan brother was most likely dead.  No one could survive in a place such as that – no one. He stood rigidly, his back hurting from the position and it helped to distract him from the tears welling in his eyes. He had to dig the end of his bow into the dirt to stay standing, his legs weak from his earlier fever. Others had long since left, but he still would not weep openly, show such weakness.  Leric wanted to scream and yell, the sudden urge to throw his bow into the fire was strong. Nothing mattered anymore, his friend was gone and within it, the only family he had ever known.

He was tired on fighting, of being sick and scared. Had it been a full day yet, since his ill-fated quest into the forest? Too much was happening at a maddening pace, and now he had a life changing decision to make.  After destroying the tainted mirror, Duncan had bluntly told Leric that he had, at most, two weeks to live, or more accurately, two weeks to slowly wither away and succumb to a painful death.  He even suggested that Leric could turn into the horrible creatures which guarded the mirror. 

It was a disturbing thought, one that Leric had dismissed immediately. Humans were always so dramatic, making monsters out of nothing but their own shadow. It was unbelievably stupid, he was a hunter in his prime, had always been one of the strongest and healthiest in the clan.  For goodness sake he was just twenty four years old and already on the path of becoming lead hunter. 

However, as Leric and Duncan made their way back to the camp, his disbelief had slowly given way to fearful belief. His fever had not gotten any better, despite the Second’s constant regenerative spells. At times it felt like his skin had bugs under it – it itched and crawled along his neck and arms and he could hardly focus on shooting straight. The most disturbing and final factor was his reaction to the dead darkspawn.  He remembered lingering over their corpses, as a pull he could not describe, paused his steps. Despite their revolting presences, he had felt…sorry for them, and oddly regretful at having killed them. It was a revelation that sent him running out of the cave.

Leric hated having to leave his home and his clan behind, but he knew he was turning into something else, something that could kill those he treasured.  He yelled as tear streamed down his face. His composure completely dissolved as he threw his bow to the ground. Why had the gods condemned him so, what had he done to deserve this?  They took away his friend and brother, made him sick and now… now they left him no other option but to follow a Shem.

 


	3. Leaving Home

Golden light filtered through the dense canopy of trees – a beautiful and peaceful sight.

It did nothing to sooth the ache Leric felt as he excited his aravel for the last time. His head pulsed painfully and his mouth felt dry, but he walked out of his clan's clearing with a confidence and pride he did not feel. They had all come to bid him farewell and their well wishes echoed throughout the forest as they reached for him and embraced him.  A wreath of elfroot was given to him as a symbolic representation of the clan’s protection. His eyes stung and he could barely give thanks past the lump in his throat.

He had to give Duncan some credit for not making him sneak away in the dead of night. Surprisingly kind for a human, that he had let Leric say his final good byes _. It is almost like I_   _am already dead and this is a funeral procession_ , thought Leric as he looked over his shoulder for the last time. People he had known all his life were waving and crying, it was hard to turn away.

Duncan's words broke him from his mourning, "I understand your pain, but we must make it back to Ostagard as fast as we can.” He touched Leric’s shoulder, “I do not know how long you will last."

Leric very much doubted this man knew what it was to lose everything, to be forced to walk with the very species he hated. But Leric kept quiet, wrapped up in sadness and too tired to respond. Instead he relaxed his body and broke into a fast stride which expertly navigated the roots and rocks of the forest. He had to move quickly, he could no longer linger in this place - it was no longer his home.

His grief slowly turned to anger that swelled like a flooded river. He had hoped to "accidently" loose the Shemlen in the dense forest. It was taxing to keep the pace, but Leric had been sure of his ability to out maneuver the man in an environment he was accustomed to. However he was rather surprised to see the aging warrior was having no difficulty matching the young hunter's strides.

Duncan let out a throaty laugh, "Well at this rate we will be at Ostagard in no time."

 _Excellent_ , thought Leric as he rolled his eyes.

They spent the next two days rapidly traveling between forest and farm steads, trying to both stay out of trouble and avoid questions – Dalish were not as inconspicuous as flat ears, Leric had learned. It was on the third day that problems started to crop up. It had been a typical silent night, with Leric sitting on the outskirts of camp keeping watch, when he noticed that he started to feel very nauseas.  It only continued to get worse as the night went on, he felt dizzy and hot; could feel rivulets of sweet pouring down his face and stinging his eyes. Leric had tried to get up, but suddenly fell as his knees gave out. He laid there shivering , unable to find the energy to move.

 Duncan had emerged from his tent then, with a look of concern flashing in his eyes. He quickly sheathed in blades and moved towards Leric, putting his hand against the sweating elf's face, "What is wrong? Do you feel ill?"

"Do I feel ill? I _feel_ like my insides are being ripped apart." Leric could barely get the words out of his mouth, his tongue felt heavy and his words were slurred.

"I am afraid the taint accelerating; you’ve been too long without the Keeper’s magic". Duncan propped Leric against a log, quickly handing him some water. "You must drink this water, dehydration is a fast killer for those infected”

Duncan’s urgent tone was enough for Leric to grasp the cup, even though his arm shook with the effort it took to lift it to his lips. It tasted like ash in his mouth and he cursed the sickness for making even the simplest of things horrible. When Leric looked up to ask Duncan a question, he saw the man had moved off towards his tent and was packing it up. His hasty movements caused some of the cookery to spill across the ground.

"What are you doing Shem?"

Duncan looked up from the pack he was stuffing, his face unreadable, "There is a noble estate about half a mile from here in Highever. I happen to be acquaintances with the Teryn and I doubt he would mind if we made use of his healer."

Leric was less than thrilled at the idea, "So… we are going to a rich Shemlen to beg for help? What a cowardly thing to do". Try as he might, Leric could put very little venom into his voice, every ounce he had was being put towards just staying conscious.

"Cowardly!" The mans' face pulled down into an impressive frown, "You are dying! I need you for the Wardens, but you are progressing too fast to make it to camp. How is asking for aide cowardly?” Duncan pointed at him, his voice taking on a harder edge, “Remember who your commander is here, boy. You Dalish are too proud to acknowledge when assistance is needed." 

Once the camp was packed up, Duncan came over to Leric and put an arm under one of his shoulders, hoisting him up and bearing his weight.

As they hobbled through the low brush and into the green fields, Duncan spoke up."You are to treat these people with respect Leric. They are an honorable family, more than most noble lines can say."

Leric was unsure whether he was supposed to hear that last part, but nevertheless he agreed to Duncan's terms, “Fine. I will treat these Shems with respect"

Duncan came up short and in doing so tugged Leric's body towards him. They looked each other in the face, him being an inch smaller than the human. "I do not want to hear you calling them Shems - not ever."

"Yes, Duncan" Leric gritted his teeth at the command. But as Duncan had so nicely reminded him earlier, he now had a new authority to answer to.

 


	4. A Welcome Disturbance

In the dark silence of her room, Fayne buried her face into her pillow, sighing appreciatively as she cuddled deeper into her blankets. The air had cooled considerably during the night and she savored the warmth of her bed. However, her peace was put to an end by the sound of soft footsteps across her chambers and the sound of fabric being moved. It was no surprise when the cool light of dawn swept into the room, it had been her chamber maid’s routine for years to wake her by opening the drapes. Secretly, Fayne always woke up at least five minutes before her torturer came, but she faked asleep on principle.

Fayne groaned audibly and threw her covers over her head with as much grace she could muster in the morning. Her battle against her chamber maid did not last long though,  as the woman had long since learned of Fayne’s weak spot right above her collar bone and along the base of her neck. Slowly slipping her hand under the sheets, the maid’s dainty fingers tickled the young woman mercilessly until she conceded to getting up. Fayne threw the sheets off her head and watched as they ballooned around her like a sea of white water.

"Up with the usual spunk I see, Lady Cousland" her maid gently helped Fayne off the bed and towards the water basin.

Fayne rolled her eyes as she was helped into her green silk robe," Ninna, how many times do I have to ask you to simply call me Fayne.” She tied the sash around her waist and looked up, “You have been with our House for all of my life, such formalities do not need to be continued"

She turned towards her dresser and eyed the water filled bowl sitting on top of in. She frowned as she pulled her wavy mess of curls up into a bun and away from her face. There, in the bowl, was a thin layer of ice from the night’s low temperatures. As a general rule, she liked splashing her face to chase away the morning drowsiness, but icy water was definitely her least favourite thing. She taped the surface with her knuckles, breaking through the light layer of ice to the cold water below. With a bracing breath she cupped the liquid and brought it to her face. She shivered as she did her morning routine, the light hairs around her face gaining extra curl in response to becoming wet.

Ninna passed Fayne a drying cloth while murmuring, "You know I cannot do that my Lady" the women ducked her head as Fayne looked up.

“Ellespeth calls me Fayne in private all the time Ninna, and you have been with our family far longer than she.”

A silence, then Ninna hesitantly responded, “Ellespeth is your handmaiden, my lady” the woman looked down, “and she is…human.” The old elf fidgeted nervously with the hem of her dress, clearly nervous on having argued with the Teryn’s daughter.

Fayne seeing that she had caused distress reached out and hugged the woman. The maid's petite body stiffened at first, but then melted into the young woman's arms "You have been with me for years, watched me go from playing with dolls to playing with swords. You have every right to call me Fayne, and I do not care whether or not you’re an elf." Fayne nodded her head, encouraging the other woman to agree with her.

Fayne found courtly titles overtly restricting and some of the social dogmas arcane. This woman was her trusted servant and was practically family, but due to her race she couldn't even address Fayne without saying "My Lady". It was ridiculous really; Fayne had asked her countless time to address her this way, yet the elf simply refused. They were in a private setting, what harm could come of it?

Ninna withdrew from Fayne and walked across the room, straightening things as she went. She may look demur, but Fayne knew Ninna was a stubborn force to be reckoned with – probably the reason her Lady mother had assigned her to Fayne in the first place.

The air was too cool to linger in a robe, so Fayne quickly pulled it off. Her usual day-wear was already prepared for her and with Ninna’s assistance, she dressed quickly. The outfit was an odd design, something she had picked both to appease her mother’s delicate female senses and the demands of weapons training. Dark leather pants covered her legs, heeled boots adding to her already tall height. As a concession, Fayne wore a light green over-dress with tailored shoulder sand a built in corset. The dress only fell to her knees with a long slip going up both thighs. The material was free flowing from her shoulders down, with billowing sleeves which were clinched at her wrist with a delicate bow.

As Ninna finished doing up the buttons along Fayne’s back, her hand maiden pushed open the thick wooden doors to her chambers. Fayne’s eye brow raised a fraction; her hand maiden was starting to take liberties again, forgetting to ask permission before entering.

Obviously unaware of the social faux pas, Ellespeth said, “My Lady Cousland” she dipped into a rushed curtsey, “Your Father is looking for you.”

"Did he say why?" Fayne waved off Ninna. Ellespeth was sounding oddly flustered, an unusual thing for the normally stoic woman. At Ellespeth’s silence, Fayne frowned. "Are you going to tell me what he wants, or will I have to take a guess?"  she smiled at Ellespeth`s blush

"Well Lady Fayne, the Teryn, your father-,"

"I know who he is…"

Ellespeth wrung her hands "Yes, sorry My Lady.  He did not really say why his was looking for you, just for me to bring you to him once you were presentable”. Ellespeth inspected Fayne`s attire, A critical gleam entering her eye – it was a look Fayne often saw in her dear mother`s face.

“Mm, my father did not say what he wanted then?” Fayne sauntered up to Ellespeth, “but you know the reason regardless.. .don’t you?”  She was not so disillusioned to think that the castle kept any secrets. Maids and servants alike hid in the shadows and often went unseen – they always knew things before the any nobles.  Fayne even had a troop of eleven children working as her gossip gatherers. She was friendly enough with the servant’s children, even snuck them sweets and chocolate from the larders when Nan was not looking.

There was no way for Ellespeth to deny her knowledge without lying to Fayne, “Well… I may have overheard Lord Cousland saying that he had finally found a perfect match for you. That he could go to battle knowing you future was set.”

Quickly nodding to Ninna and Ellespeth, Fayne marched out of her room slamming her door as loud as possible. A battle lay on the horizon for both her brother and her father, and the man was planning her betrothal? It was irresponsible; her father had other pressing matters to worry over such as battle tactics and ration supplies. Not only was the timing wholly inappropriate, but he had promised no marriage contract would be signed without her consent. A love match was a rare thing, she could not deny this, but her father had sworn…had assured her, that she would have some level of control over who her future husband would be. Her earlier good mood was gone and now she was fuming and would make her father regret his decision.

Laughter came from one of the royal suites. Fergus's door lay open and he was looking at her with mirth in his eyes, “So it looks like you heard about Father's marvellous new plan I take it?"

She kept walking past him and resisted the urge to use an obscene hand gesture.  She had to keep her anger and her haughty disposition if she wanted to stand her ground. Guard’s men bowed to her as she left the Royal wing, some even tried to engage her in conversation. She usually enjoyed this, their point of view was refreshingly different than the court ladies, and they shared fighting techniques. But now she was a woman on a mission and nothing would stop her.

After her forced march, she found herself standing in front of the wooden doors leading to the great hall. Straightening her posture, Fayne took a deep breath and brushed an errant curl off her face with a quick movement. The short trip from her room to the great hall left her little time to organize her thoughts, let alone think of a way to out maneuver her father – something she had only recently been able to do. Her father was a smart man, but had had always been more lenient with her compared to Fergus. She had convinced him to let her train with weapons, so if she put her mind to it, she could probably convince him to stop this marriage non-sense.

With a bang, the twin doors flew open, hitting the stone walls of the hall. A rather dramatic move, she thought, but one she could work with. Fayne had expected to see her father engaged with a group of soldiers, bent over his war maps and schematics, but what she saw was far from her expectations. There were people in the hall, but they did not react to her at all. Everyone one was situated around, what seemed to be, a body laying prone on the floor. The shrill voice of her father's healer said something to a dark man standing two feet from him. The older man nodded solemnly and crossed his arms.

The Howe family were in attendance as well, standing by the fireplace. Thomas stood beside his father, Rendon Howe, as they conversed in hush whispers with their heads bent together. Their focus seemed to alternate between her father's drawn features and to the body on the floor. Curiosity caused Fayne to set aside her issues as she slowly walked towards the scene.

No one had taken any notice of her and she wanted to keep it that way. This was a rare chance to get first hand knowledge of something new – an exciting change of pace from her usual routine. She tiptoed around the edge of the room, where the lanterns shadows were the deepest and angled herself behind one of the support pillars.

For a few minutes she lingered by the beam, but the voices were too lower to hear much beyond indistinct murmurs. Deciding to take a chance, Fayne came closer to the group and as soon as she did, the dark-haired stranger’s head jerked up. When his eyes met hers he seemed almost…amused, like he was going to wink at her. The healer said something to him then, and his attention shifted to the figure on the ground, his face grave. Fayne's father had noticed the strangers’ distraction and followed his eyes until they fell on her.

Bryce stood up and sighed, "Come here pup, it seems our early soirée has been interrupted by a crisis."

He gestured to the man on the ground. And as she moved towards her father she saw it was an elf with long dark hair. His face was twisted in agony as he clutched his stomach. His lips moved as to voice his agony, but no words came out.

Her father placed a hand on her back, pulling her thoughts away from the elf, "My manners seemed to have fled me. Pup, this is Duncan, an old acquaintance of mine.”

Duncan uncrossed his arms and gave her a small bow, "A pleasure, my lady." His eyes quickly trained back to the man on the ground as the healer interrupted the introductions with a hurried request. The elf had to be moved somewhere quickly to rest and recover, she could do little healing in the Great Hall.

"He is a Maker damned knife ear, we should kick him out." Thomas cursed under his breath as he looked at the elf with contempt.

Thomas Howe had always annoyed her. His bigotry was deep seeded and well known, and unfortunately many noble lines shared his beliefs. She frowned as Thomas looked her way, he made her skin crawl.

Fayne wrapped her hands around her father’s forearms like she used to do as a child, "Father, he can stay in my room.” He looked ready to protest, but she made her grey eyes wide and pouted, “Please father, it is both safe and warm. Fergus is right next to my suit as well.”

His eyes softened at her pleading and differential tone, "Of course pup, but what of you?"

Fayne quickly hugged her father, "Do not worry father. I won't even need another room until after practice today - which of course will go well into the evening."

She could practically feel Thomas's glare on her back as her father announced what a good idea it would be for the sick young man to have a proper bed to lay on. Fayne watched as the servants carried the young elf towards her chambers with the healer not far behind. Once the group had gone, her father motioned for both Duncan and Howe to take a seat at the long oak table that dominated the room. The table had been stolen from the Orlesian forces during the war. Her father often boasted how it was the only piece of furniture he had ever spilt blood for.

Fayne went to sit in her customary spot, but her father's raised hand stopped her, "Not now pup, we have war business to attend to.  Be a good daughter and go along to your practice."

She grudgingly tilted her head and muttered sweetly, too sweetly, "As you wish father" and left the room.


	5. First Encounters of the Elf-Kind

"Harder, Cousland!”  The knight yelled from the sidelines. Her mentor and friend was leaning against the wooden fence, watching her spare. Every so often he would yell an encouragement – or an insult depending on his mood.

Fayne ducked to the left and narrowly avoided a swipe at her shoulder; she squinted against the evening sun as she scrutinized her sparring partner. Faking fatigue, she leaned back and let the man come closer so that he was within her guard. Quick as lightning she spun on her toes and used the momentum to land a hard kick to the man's middle, causing him to stumble back. She took the opportunity to slide behind him and put a dagger under the soldier's chin.

He quickly raised his hands in surrender, dropping his wooded sword and shield. She patted her partner on the shoulder and he bowed to her murmuring a quick, ‘My Lady’ before running off to the armory. She could see some of the stable hands discretely exchanging money. So they had bet on her had they? She shook her head as a rueful smile spread on her face, the men needed some distraction, after tomorrow most of them would be sent to Ostagard.

"That was an entertaining fight…” drawled Sir Gilmore. He jumped the wooden fence in one smooth move and came to stand before her, “Though I wish you would at least let me teach you how a real warrior fights”

Fayne rolled her eyes and took the cloth Gilmore handed to her, “Don’t tell me you are of the same mind as my father.” She wiped the sweat off her brow and in a deep tone she mimicked her father’s voice, “Now Fayne darling, no one ever remembers those who fight in the shadows. Honors comes only to the warriors.”

She threw the rag at Gilmore and with hands on her hips said, "Now you tell me, is death honourable? I don't think I would want to lose just because I chose honour over using all the tools available to me - no thank you. I like winning far more than I probably should." She patted him on the shoulder as she passed by him and into the hallway to her estate. "One of these days I will let you give me a lecture on honour, how about that?"

The knight bowed his head with a smirk on his face, "That is excellent my lady, just be ready to have a very long, long, long day."

She laughed heartily as she passed through the gate doors and into the castle proper, pausing at the base of the stairs to the great hall. Surely by now her father was finished with his guests, but did she really want to talk with him. He might bring up topics she would rather avoid – like her apparent betrothal. The last thing she wanted to do was have an argument with her father before he left for war.

She was also very curious to see the strange elf that was now lying ill in her room. Fayne changed her direction, heading for the servants corridors into her family’s private wing. It was quiet this time of day; the stone halls were empty as the servants were mostly wondering the castle. Her leather boots clicked in a steady beat as she headed to her room.   _I wonder where the elf came from?  He looked so sick and weak, surely he cannot be a Warden_   _too?_ Fayne was so preoccupied by her own thoughts that she did not notice the figure lingering in the hallway. Only when the man roughly grabbed her by the arm, did she notice him.

A frown came to her face, "What do you want Thomas? I have things to attend to" Fayne said in a bored voice as she wretched her arm free from his hold.

Thomas smirked as he lifted a brow, "Yes… I am sure you have ‘things’ that must be done.”  He dramatically clutched his chest in feigned pain, “Oh the hardships of a noble woman."

The last thing she needed was to deal with Thomas’s sarcasm – she had been exposed to it enough over the years. She would have brushed him off as she usually did, but his biting words had hit a nerve and she snarled at him, "I have far better things to do then live off of my Daddy's glory, unlike you who seems to feed off of it like a leach!"

The sting of a hard slap rang loud in the quiet hallway; it was so unexpected that it caused her head to snap to the left. Dark red hair fell out of her bun and across her face. Fayne turned back to him, her burning eyes promising retribution, but her anger was met the amused expression of Thomas Howe.  She clenched her fists in an effort to keep them from touching her face; the slap had been a hard and painful one.

Thomas took a step closer, and his smirk turned into a full blown smile as Fayne took a step back, her back hitting the corridor wall. Soon his body was pinning her to the wall and as he spoke, he roughly grabbed a piece of her hair and painfully twisted it around his finger, "Do you know how long I have wanted you?" he asked in a frighteningly calm and quiet voice, "For a very long time," he let go of the curl and threaded his finger deeper into her hair, tugging until a cry escape her lips.

He continued to pull her hair until it brought her face to face with him, she could feel his breath fan across her cheeks as he regarded her. He tilted his head down just enough for their lips to touch, "Do not assume that you can run away from me this time, Fayne.” His fingers flexed, “with Nathaniel out of the way, I finally have your daddy's favour and agreement to this… arrangement, and I will not allow you to ruin it."

Thomas yanked his hand out of her hair, and a few curly stands ripped out in the process. As soon as he was free of her hair, his hand violently pushed her head back into the wall. In the process, her face was turned to the side and his fingers obscured her vision. He stood there for a time as his large hand continued to push her head into the wall. She was unable to see his expression, but she assumed it was disgustingly smug. What had gotten into Thomas? He had never touched her so aggressively before. There had been minor groping incidences when he was drunk at a feast, but he had never dared to treat her in such a way – he was a coward at heart.

Snapping out of her shock, Fayne grabbed his wrists and struggled to loosen his grip. Suddenly, he just let her go and walked away, not looking back or saying another word. Fayne stood perfectly still as she delicately touched her face, trying to understand the whole situation. She was unsure if it would bruise and she had to formulate an excuse for the mark. She would not give Thomas the satisfaction of knowing he had wounded her and running to her father like a little child would only just make his satisfaction greater.

"I would like to say I am sorry for my son's actions, but I am not." Rendon Howe came from behind a doorway cast in shadows. 

 _Has he been watching this whole time_? Fayne wondered, as she cautiously watched the man approach her. She had never seen Howe get angry or lose his patience before, but that made him all the more unknown. What was his reason for him being in the servant’s hall anyway, and the fact that he was so close to his son was suspicious.

His voice filled the hall, "You should be happy my son is willing to look past your many….. unsavoury traits, my dear."  The oddness of the situation left Fayne speechless as she watched Rendon turn and start walking to the visitor's room.

With his back turned away from her he said, "My son is perhaps a little too eager to play his role as your lord husband, but you do understand that you would receive the same treatment from any other man.” He tilted his head and regarded her coolly out of the corner of his eye, “I would have thought your mother would have prepared you better….trained you better. But no matter, once you marry my son you will receive a more heavy-handed education if you do not curb that tongue of yours. That fine appendage of your is best left for more… pleasurable things."

Howe's last statement brought a shiver down her spine as she watched the man disappear.  _Disgusting pig_ , she thought as she slowly made her way to her room. Fayne untied her now messy bun, letting her curls fall freely in front of her face, making sure the mark was covered. She was not in the mood to answer questions and she doubted in her current state she could make a convincing lie about the hand print she now bore.

As she quietly slipped out of the servants’ corridor and into the main room, she thanked the Maker that her brother was out. His room was directly across from her hidden access point and he would surely have questioned her sudden appearance. His absence also gave her the ability to inspect the mysterious man without an audience.

The wooden doors to her room were left ajar, and she slipped between them. She silently closed the door behind her as she made her way towards her bed. The evening sun cast a dusty glow across her room and highlighted the man's sleeping form. He seemed to be sleeping peacefully, his hair was twisted in the pillow and his back was curled in the bed. She prowled around the room like a cat, slowly circling her bed – he was an enigma, and she was dying to know how he had ended up in this situation. Her caution slowly bled into burning curiosity. She padded lightly towards him and bent over the bed to get a good view of the man's face.

His hair was covering a section of his face and Fayne frowned in thought. She looked up at him and noted his deep even breaths and relaxed body. Feeling confident the man was deep into his dreams, Fayne reached over and delicately moved his dark braids from across his face, and she was shocked to see what a lovely creature the elf was.

When she had first seen him, his face had been contorted in agony, but with his now calm expression he looked absolutely transformed. His face was the epitome of all things eleven: high check bones, sharp sloping jaw and thin nose. Every elf in her household had these traits, but it was not these things that shocked her. His face held certain strength to it, a solidness that she usually associated with human men.

She was so enraptured by his appearance that she breached all boundaries of proprietary. The bed duped slightly as she sat beside him and started to lightly trace the light brown tattoos which were on his face. They curved from his temples and forehead and dipped down the slope of his nose and across his right eye. They swirled in an exotic pattern that invoked both fear and fascination.

She bent over him, leaning close enough to hear him breath. She eyed the graceful designs trying to find where they started and where they stopped. She had managed to make it from his left temple down his nose when she made it to his eyebrow. When she glanced down, she expected to see closed eyes twitching with remnants of a dream. Instead, she was met with a very awake and aware elf. Fayne started and quickly retracted her hand, but his green eyes pinned her to the spot and she found it impossible to make any further movements.

A deep flush came to her pale face and she was certain he could see it. She did not know when he awoke, but he seemed calm enough. His green eyes held a scrutinizing cold look that made her feel like she was a deer in the gaze of a wolf. She feared if she moved the man might attack her. It seemed like an eternity until the world started to move again and she regained her wits. Quickly, she sprung from the bed and walked to the other side of the room. Her hands smoothed out her leathers and folded neatly in front of her. Now that she was a respectable distance from the man, she was able to collect her thoughts and conduct herself like the noble she was.

"It is wonderful that you are awake, Duncan seemed most worried about you…" Fayne left an opening for the elf to say his name, but nothing came. He just propped his body on his elbows and gave her a calculated stare.

The tattoos on his face caught her eye again and her curiosity got the better of her, "Where did you get the designs on your face, they are most…interesting looking.” She took an eager step forward, “I have seen no elf with them other than you?"  For some reason this seemed to have upset the man, his brows drew down together as he fully sat up. It gave her a wonderful view of his chest and Fayne was shocked to see this elf had a broad chest, a highly unusual site on an elf.

 In a scathing tone he answered, "These designs, as you call them, are not art Shem! They are a piece of my people's culture and you see no other flat ears with these markings because they are too weak to be Dalish. Instead they bow to people such as you!"

To say she was shocked was an understatement. Fayne did not know what to do, earlier the man had been so contemplative and now he was livid. True, she had not had dealings with many elves outside of her servants, but how could this man despise her so much? And what had he called himself, Dalish? She had heard of these ‘wild elves’ as her father called them. They gave some of the traders problems, but other than that she knew very little about them.

She quickly put the mask of nobility over her shock and stood tall, "I am sorry that I have upset you Sir."  She gave a shallow bow and rounded the bed heading for the door. First she was belittled and manhandled by Howe and now this? Her curiosity had long since vanished in the wake of the elf’s animosity and if she was going to be treated as such, then she would leave him to his injuries.

A sigh came from her bed, "You can stay,” it sounded like the words were being pulled from him, “I was told to be polite to you and it seems I have failed at Duncan's request. I care not for your kind, but I do respect Duncan, so come back here and let me ‘be’ polite." His tone was softer, but not by much.

Fayne lingered by the door, should she entertain him any longer? It seemed to her that the young man was at least making an effort, despite his admission of disliking her kind. That was not new to her, new servants often gave her family dirty looks when they thought no one was looking. It usually lasted until they figured out their place in the castle or when Nan decided to sit them down for a ‘talk’. Whatever a ‘talk’ entailed, Fayne did not know, nor care to know, but it certainly squashed any further hostility.

This was her only chance to talk with an elf, as an equal without the rigidness of decorum. She glanced at the door to make sure it was closed and then walked closer to the bed. For a while they lingered in silence, looking at one another. Fayne did not know where to start; the first thing she said to him seemed to have angered him.

She was relieved when Leric decided to start the conversation, "What is your name?" The simple sentence sounded forced, but at least he was trying.

"My name is Fayne Cousland, you are currently in my father's estate."

He dipped his head, "I am Leric of clan Mahariel."

So Leric was his name. It seemed somehow fitting for his personality; short and sharp like his temper.

Fayne took a breath to ask another question, but Leric beat her to it, "Where did you get that mark on your face?"

 Fayne had forgotten the incident with Thomas and she lightly touched her face. It was still very sore, but she resisted the urge to wince. She prayed it did not look like a hand print, because if it did it would prove she was lying, "I was outside with my mabari when he pushed me to the ground and I ended up hitting my face." She smiled as she explained the mark to Leric, hoping he would buy the story.

Crossing his arms Leric looked at her disapprovingly, "Do you think I am stupid?  You have a hand print on your face."

The smile fell off her face as she blanched at his words.  If the mark was so defined, how was she going to explain it to her parents?  Deciding it was best to leave, she again walked to the door, totally ignoring his question.  Maybe if she retired early enough she could sleep away the mark until it become an unrecognizable bruise.

"It was pleasant speaking with you Leric, I hope you can get well soon and be on your way." She knew her words sounded harsh, but she had had enough of men treating her like a lesser-being and she wanted to reach her temporary room before either of her parents saw her face.

She closed the door to her room quickly and made her way to the spare bedroom set up for her, staying in the shadows. Servants were milling about as they did the chores of the estate and they often fueled the rumor mill of the town. As she walked through the narrow part of the hallway she saw her personal maid Ninna, come bustling through the kitchen door.  _She can't see me like this_ , thought Fayne,  _she will immediately alert father_.

With calculated precision Fayne stepped into the shadows cast by the high window, allowing her body to become invisible to the untrained eye. She had learned to master this technique at a surprisingly young age when she would play hide and seek with Fergus. Her mother had drilled her for hours trying to find out which martial master had taught her daughter this rouge technique, but Fayne had insisted that she learned it by herself, which was true. Nevertheless it sent her mother into an uproar and caused Fayne to be kept away from any training men for years. Only after a heated debate with her father about five years ago, was she finally allowed to train under a guidance of a knight.

Fayne exhaled the breath she was holding when Ninna passed by her without a second glance.

"Very well done, young lady," A rich baritone voice came from behind her and caused Fayne to loose concentration, making her visible again. She turned around slowly and came face to face with the Warden Duncan.

"Hello Duncan, how are you?" ever the polite lady, Fayne gave a small curtsy to the man, trying to keep her face in the shadow.

"I am well my Lady. I was just passing through and happened to witness your spectacle and thought it best to congratulate you on learning such a hard maneuver" he looked at her with dark calculating eyes.

"Thank you Duncan, though I would keep the complements to a minimum. My father and mother are somewhat displeased about where I demonstrate my talents as it were." She laughed and tilted her head back. The move had been a mistake, she could tell by the frown that suddenly appeared on Duncan's face. He must have seen the hand print, but he said nothing though his frown clearly showed his disapproval.

"I could use someone like you in the Wardens. I came here looking for a recruit as well as seeking aid for the elf."

"You are referring to Leric, the one in my bedroom?"

Duncan’s eyes widened at her used of the man's name, “Yes… that elf.  Anyway, do you think your father would be willing to part with you?"

"I highly doubt my parents would want me to become some legendary warrior” her laugh was more bitter than merry, “more along the lines of a legendary wife."

Shocked at her own candor, Fayne covered her mouth and bowed, "You must forgive my cadence, Sir Warden, sometimes I forget myself."

What was she thinking? She could not be so abrupt with this man, her mother would kill her if she found out her high bred daughter was talking like some low-born gossiper.

His hearty laugh filled the corridor as he waved his hand, "No need my lady, you were not too out of hand. It is just a shame that we could not have a such gifted individual as yourself in our order."

Fayne started to turn to go down to her room, "Well Duncan, I wish I could come with you, but my place is here." She began to walk away but before she rounded the corner she said, "Though a girl can always dream right?" with that she disappeared into the dark hall, her body consumed by the late afternoon shadow.

 

 


	6. Fox in the Hen’s Nest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note there is some violence and swearing in this chapter

Her night started as they always did, with the warmth from her hearth and the quiet nothingness of the evening.  This peace was broken as several hours into her slumber, Fayne started to toss and turn fitfully in her sleep.

Her dreams were more violent than usual, with the forms of dying soldiers and wounded servants filling her mind.  She walked along a shattered and burnt corridor, a dense fog making it difficult to see beyond three feet. Desperately, Fayne wanted to escape this place of death and destruction, but she knew there was no where to go. Her dreams were something she had never been able to control or influence, and from experience she knew she had to let it run its course.

It was frustrating but typical; she could only ever make out minor details of what was going on. She stumbled across another body in her dream and she paused to consider it. Perhaps if she could figure out the family crest of the fallen men then maybe she could help prevent the impending suffering.

She bent down to look at his shield, and the blurry image was almost discernible.  However the closer she got to the body, the hazier her vision became. Her fingers reached out to the man, to turn his head towards her. At least in her visions she had always been able to recognize people, all she had to do was see his face and then maybe warn the people involved.

The second her fingers touched his cool skin, her mind went blank and she was suddenly ripped out of her dream. She sat up in her bed, her shaking fist clutching the gown at her chest.  Sweat was rapidly cooling on her brow and she could still smell the scent of death in the air. 

“Another vision”, she sighed as she thumped her body back down on her bed.  Her frustration started to mount as she realized how close she had come to looking at the dead man’s face. Quickly, she threw the covers off of her soaked body and flung them with wild abandon across the room. 

Fayne stomped over to the Andrastian figurine on her wardrobe and pointed at it in anger, “Why show me these things? Why make it so that all I can see is suffering, but do nothing to stop it!” yelled Fayne.

Ever since she had been a child, her parents said she had a creative mind, a wonderful imagination that they had never known.  They had encouraged her to play with Fergus, laughed at her pretending to be a warrior queen from the past.  This open attitude of her parents, though, did not last long. Her imagination was not limited to only the waking hours, but leaked into her nights as well. She could remember waking up in the middle of the night, sobbing and shaking from night terrors.

Her nights were sometimes filled with confusing images, and the older she got the more disturbing they became. They varied from simple things like a mabari going missing, to large events like a death of soldier. As a small child she would run to her mother crying, trying to warn her that something bad was going to happen to someone she had dreamt about.  Being so young she had not understood what was going on, could not grasp how abnormal her ‘dreams’ were. For didn’t all children dream of things before they happened?

She could vividly remember the day she had found out her ability was not normal at all. She must have been no older than seven when she had run to her mother, shaking in fear and seeking to be consoled. Instead of picking Fayne up with open arms, her mother had smacked her across the face, her angry voice yelling, “Stop making things up child, you are NOT seeing the future, you ARE simply being a spoiled brat trying to gain her mother’s attention!”

For many years after that incident, she thought her mother could only see her as a liar, and their relationship suffered under her misconception. Now, years later Fayne understood the situation perfectly, could almost sympathize with her mother’s fear and anger. Her mother had always known Fayne could see things – see things no person should have been able to. It was evident in the way she avoided being alone with Fayne, the way her mother would watch her out of the corner of her eyes. The question though, was whether her mother was afraid for her, or afraid of her?

All the things she had warned her mother about had happened; Nan broke her foot, a couple was found dead after being robbed…the list continued.  But her young mind could not understand why her mother had called her a liar when events clearly happened as she said they would. Very rarely was she granted with clear and precise visions, but when she told her mother about them the woman had scorned her and punished her.  So Fayne stopped telling her mother about the visions her mother pretended everything was alright.

However the more she fought her visions, the more they came in confusing swirls of images and feelings.  For ten years she would wake up screaming in the middle of the night, only to blame it on nightmares.  She kept her mouth shut about her visions, and kept her mouth shut when she saw things she should never have.  After a while, the servants got used to her awakening in the night and knew to leave her alone during the evenings. Only Fergus remained concerned for her welfare throughout the years, and she hated the fact that she had to lie to her closet confidant.

Even when she saw the death of Sir Walter, she kept her mouth shut.  She didn’t stop thieves she knew would rob her guests, nor prevent a servant from breaking one of the fine dishware - she just kept her mouth shut and tried to pretend her dreams were nothing more than make-believe.  It hurt her to see others in pain when she could have prevented it, but as she got older and the dreams more frequent her mother started to keep Fayne under constant supervision.  Tea with other noble ladies became a way for her mother to make sure Fayne could not do something foolish that would display her abilities, or her 'lies' as her mother would call them.

When Ninna became her personal maid, Fayne’s life had changed dramatically. One night Ninna had found her in a terrified state after one of her dreams, and had instantly held her closely murmuring elvish in her ears. Somehow the elf knew her dreams were more than they seemed and fully embraced it. Fayne never questioned Ninna as to how she knew she had vision; Ninna was an ally against the darkness of her mind.  After each vision she would sit with Ninna and talk about it with her, sometimes they even figured out how to prevent the events from happening without alerting her mother.  This camaraderie seemed to make her visions less frightful, as she strived to travel with a conscious purpose in her fade-like reality instead of being a helpless bystander.

Of course, as a young adult Fayne was able to understand why her mother scorned her as a child.  Such abilities were rare, as rare as Andraste herself.  If the Chantry found out  Fayne could glimpse the future, they might have sent her to the mages’ tower or worse, branded her as a heretic.  With a new understanding of the world she lived in and it’s politics, Fayne  could understand the fear of a mother who might lose her child for the slightest slip-up.

Fayne sighed again and went to sit at the edge of her bed. She dug her palms further into her eyes, her mind was too occupied to sleep. All she wanted was for the smell to be gone; the stench of blood overwhelmed her senses. 

Fayne bolted up as she realized that the smell was not her imagination, it was real. Muffled yelling could also be heard outside her door.  Her heart started to painfully hammer away in her chest. She let out a deep breath and focused on centering herself, whatever was going on was a serious situation. With the ease of a trained warrior, Fayne donned her armour and grabbed her inscribed daggers. The thin blades glinted in the moonlight from her window.  Quietly she went to the door, opening it just a crack.

In front of her sat her bloodied hound, Zoltar. His ears were back and his teeth were exposed, but other than that he was silent.  She walked fully out of the room avoiding the dead man at her feet and looked around.  Her borrowed room was at the end of a forgotten passage, so most likely who ever had attacked did not think the area important enough to warrant more than one soldier.  Fayne bent down and examined the shield of the dead warrior, moving his limp arm away.  Shock and anger bubbled in her stomach as she beheld the insignia. 

She stood up quickly and spat at the man’s face, “Howe, you treacherous bastard!”

Her hissed curse caused Zoltar to back away from her and let out a pitiful whine, “Come on ‘Tar let’s go get the family.”

Her breathing became gasps as she bounded up the stone stairs two at a time. So far she had encountered no resistance, but that meant Howe’s men were occupied elsewhere.  Her heart clenched and her stomach dropped at the thought of her family being hurt by these men.  Fayne pushed past her fatigue, onward towards her family’s quarters.

_Please let them be okay, please let them be okay,_ Fayne prayed to the Maker. As she pulled open the doors to her family’s quarters, her mind went into overdrive at the scene before her.  Dead men littered the floor, wearing the colours of both Cousland and Howe. Lying forgotten in the corner of a room lay the body of a woman and a small child.  An older woman sat before them, gently holding the child’s head in her hands as she rocked back and forth.

Fayne stepped back and let out a breath as her mind made a dreadful connection, there was a reason this whole situation seemed familiar, she had just witnessed it in her dream.

_This can’t be happening, this is wrong…it can’t be my family,_ Her thoughts became a garbled mess of hate and sorrow as she watched her mother hold her dead nephew’s face. As Fayne stared dazed at the scene, an arrow pierced her shoulder blade sending searing pain through her upper body.  The pain broke her from her shocked state and with her sudden clarity came a sea of hatred.  Fayne turned around and rushed the lone soldier who was trying to reload his crossbow.  He was not quick enough and he let out a small scream as she plugged her daggers into his stomach.

“YOU CAN’T EVEN LET US GRIEVE!!” She screamed at the man as spittle flew from her mouth. She twisted the blade and pulled it out, only to stab the man again, “FUCK YOU AND YOUR FUCKING HOUSE!” She stabbed him again and again until his innards spilled across the wooden floor, befouling the once beautiful marble with the obscene.

A hand grabbed her arm and gently twisted Fayne towards them.  Her mother’s grey eyes held sorrow and determination as they looked at her, “Do not lose yourself, we must find your father.”

Fayne wanted to slap her mother, how could the woman be so calm in the face of such cruelty? The soldiers did not even hide what they did to her sister in-law’s body before her death.  But Fayne stopped her arm before it even lifted -her mother was right, if they were going to survive, they had to think clearly. This had to have been a planned attack; most of the Cousland men were already gone with only the secondary troop still in the castle. What was Howe’s end game? Did he plan to leave any survivors? With a sickening realization, Fayne knew that Howe meant to kill them all.

The two women ran along the corridors, fighting soldiers and finding as many servants as they could.  Fayne could tell her mother was tiring, but they did not have the luxury of taking a break.  Even the arrow in Fayne’s shoulder was now a dull ache compared to the pain that pulled at her heart and the adrenaline that was rushing through her system. 

Her heart broke when she beheld her father’s proud from, broken and bloodied on the floor of the larder.  The head of the Couslands was drowning in his own blood at the hand of Howe.

“Father!” Fayne exclaimed as she ran to his body.  She slipped on his blood and landed heavily on her knees.

Bryce’s cold hand grabbed his daughters face as he struggled to speak, “Know that I love you pup, “his voice caught as tears filled his eyes, “you must survive and be the hand of vengeance our family deserves.”  His eyes turned determined as he looked behind Fayne. He nodded his head once and then returned his gaze back to his daughter, “I am sorry we have to part this way, Pup. But I know you, and I cannot let your stubbornness get you killed.”

Fayne could sense another body behind her and tried to turn her head to look at the person her father had motioned to.  Bryce’s hands were surprisingly strong as he held her face firmly in place, his eyes were pleading as he whispered, “I will always be with you, never forget that.”

An unexpected pain in her neck caused Fayne’s eyes to widen in surprise. No sooner had she registered the pain did her eyes roll back in her head.  She felt her body go limp as she fell to the floor, darkness narrowing her vision.  The last thing she registered was a pair of armor clad arms reaching towards her.

 

 


	7. Alone

**Leric POV**

When he first woke up in the stone castle, Leric was assaulted with a variety of enticing smells, ranging from cooking meet to wild flowers. Now the pleasant smells of the lively castle were long gone, replaced with the burning sourness of smoke and blood.

He watched as Duncan bent down over the unconscious girl, grabbing her middle and slinging her over his shoulder. The man paused to give the dying noble an apologetic look. It was all very sentimental, thought Leric, but he wondered how sincere it was on Duncan’s part. After spending several weeks with the human, Leric had seen his cunning ways and how easy it was for the man to spin a lie. His appreciation for Duncan’s manipulative ways was tempered by his acknowledgement of his dangerousness, for Duncan was dangerous man. From the way he planned things to the eloquence of his speech, Duncan was a very dangerous man.

Despite not being privy to the Duncan’s plan, Leric still believed it was incredibly foolish that he insisted on taking the woman.  _You humans are so treacherous, even_   _with your own kind_ , thought Leric.

Only hours ago he had awoken to the sound of a woman's screams and pounding feet.  Beloved bow in hand, Leric had looked out the doorway intent on finding the source of the noise. Across from his borrowed room he had seen what was happening, had seen how vastly outnumbered he was and promptly shut the door. He could do nothing to save the struggling woman.

With the attacking men having priorities elsewhere, Leric had made his escape out the large window, deftly jumping to the next balcony and rolling into what looked like another guest room. He had been extremely lucky this one had been unoccupied and of little interest to the armoured men. It did not take long for him to find Duncan who was well aware of the massacre which was occurring.

He had been expecting to run out of the castle with Duncan, to steal away in the pitch black of night with nothing but their cloths and weapons. Imagine his surprise upon learning that some noble woman had to be found and rescued, for a knight-in-shining-armour, Duncan was not.

Bang, Bang,

The wooden door to the larder was beginning to bow under the pressure of whatever assault was taking place on the other side. The ominous sound of splintering wood caused Duncan to quickly turn towards the hidden escape route the Tyrn had described earlier. Leric tightened his fist on his bow, _what a stupid way to die_ , he thought,  _trying to save a worthless spoiled shem girl_. He turned his head and regarded the woman in Duncan's arms, the same one who had interrupted his rest that afternoon. He could see no value in taking her with them; she would only slow down their progress.

As if sensing Leric’s reluctance, the old Teryn grasped his hand, "Please take her with you, she is all we have left."

Leric wretched his hand free from the man in disgust. With a sneer he watched as the old human struggled to stay alive, his tired wife by his side. While he was moved by the inhumanity of it all, a small part of him felt vindication at their tragedy, for this suffering was just a small taste of what the shems had done to all the elves.

With a worried look, Duncan turned towards the servants’ passageway and motioned for Leric to follow. The woman's head bobbed up and down as Duncan ran through the narrow hall; she was completely unconscious. Leric would make it a point to ask Duncan how he had knocked her out so quickly with such an efficient move.

They lightly jogged for a good two hours before Duncan raised his hand, signalling a rest, "We should be safe here, Howe’s soldiers will not pursue us outside of the Cousland boundaries."

Over the course of their traveling both of them had taken turns carrying the woman. Leric’s breaths came fast and painful, he had been carrying her the last ten minutes and she was no small delicate flower. Leric was pleased that he could finally dump the woman, it was uncomfortable being in such a close position with a shem.

With a dull thud, the girl landed on the ground next to a pile of blankets Duncan had set up. Her flowing red hair blended into her bloody face as she lay motionless at Leric's feet.  With a look of disgust, Leric turned to set up his tent, she reeked of blood and sweat.

Leric’s actions got him an irritated look from Duncan, "You could have put her down with more care. I suspect she has a cracked rib."

Leric thumped the tip of his bow into the dirt and leaning against it, "Why did we even take her? She seems utterly useless."

"If she were utterly useless she would be dead already. Do you think Howe's men just let her walk through the castle? Take a look at her shoulder." Leric followed Duncan's finger as he pointed to the broken shaft which stuck out of her, “She fought with that wound, and I have seen many skilled warriors simply give up because of such an injury” his tone clearly stated that this conversation was over.

Leric watched as Duncan fished through his pack, pulling out two items. In one hand, he held a poultice and in the other, a damp rag. Duncan stooped down and started to wipe off the blood from her face. It was odd seeing Duncan being so delicate, but he supposed it had to do with how young and defenceless their new addition looked.

She was very pale, he noted, and the colour of her hair was rather striking now that some of the grime had been washed away. While her face had been cleaned, her body was still covered in gore and it seemed Duncan was intent on removing it. Leric continued to observe Duncan as he then propped her back against a log and began to undress her upper body. The man's fingers untied the leather laces one by one, slowly exposing the pristine white flesh of her neck and then her shoulders and down to her….

Duncan stopped his ministrations and glanced behind him, "Are you enjoying the show?" Dark eyes flashed in anger, "If you have no intent on aiding me, then divert your eyes and show some respect."

Slightly ashamed and annoyed, Leric went into his tent. He didn't even know why he had been staring at the women, but her form just seemed to have captured him.  Living amongst the sun-kissed complexions of his people, her skin was the palest he had ever seen. He wondered how long it took her to tan, or if she burned in the sun? Shaking his head at his own disturbing thoughts, Leric lay down.

  _I_   _am too far from home_ ,  _and too tired to think straight,_ he told himself.

Sleep found him quickly, but all too soon he was awoken by a rough shove. Clearly it was his turn to take watch, so with exasperatingly slow movements Leric stretched and made his way out of the tent.

“I sense no darkspawn about so we should be fine."

As Duncan started to walk to his tent, Leric asked, "Is she still unconscious, the sheml- , I mean the human?"

A frown creased the man's brow, "Yes… she is. It is strange, but alas, I am no healer so I do not know if her injuries are far more dire than we thought.” Duncan paused to regard the woman, “If she does not wake by tomorrow then we will have to leave her.”

He struggled to keep his face even and not remark on the older man's words, but he remembered the scathing glare he had received earlier, so he remained silent. All their effort would be for nothing if the Shemlen woman did not awake.

Coldness nipped at his fingers and Leric decided to sit closer to the fire. Of course by doing so, he ended up closer to the woman.  _She is more like a child_ , he thought as he regarded her sleeping form. Eyelids fluttered as she lay still as death the ground. Her face was ghostly pale with dark purple circles forming under her eyes.

The orange flames were warm and comforting, the sparks danced into the night air, free and jovial. He relaxed and sighed as he shifted his weight so that he was leaning back on one elbow. The fresh air and camp fire reminded him of home and he let his mind relax. He could tell by the quiet noises of the forest that all was well, no predators were nearby.

Every once in a while he would look over at the woman to make sure she was breathing. He watched as her bandaged torso rose in short bursts and fell rapidly. Her breathing was laboured and from experience he knew pneumonia could soon claim her if her breathing stayed so shallow. It was well into his watch when Leric noticed the fire was dying out. Dry and broken twigs lay just beyond their resting site; they would be needed if he wanted to stay warm all night.

As he started to get up, a slim hand darted out and grabbed his wrist, pulling with fierce strength that caught him by surprise causing him to fall on his back. The woman was lying there with her eyes clamped shut and her mouth mumbling. Words were rushing out of her mouth at such a speed that he could not understand them. She turned and thrashed, kicking out at air as she gripped him harder.

He was bewildered; he did not know what to do. Should he slap the woman awake or fetch Duncan? However, as soon as her episode started, she became still and calm again. Leric sprung up and stepped away from her as quickly as possible. The whole thing had been…unnerving to witness and he intended to stay on the other side of the fire, away from the blasted woman.

 

* * *

 

 

**Fayne Pov**

 

Fayne did not know where she was.

When she opened her eyes, the first thing she had seen were stars. Lots and lots of stars, they littered the sky in a dizzying array of patterns.

_Where am I?_

Her breathing became more rapid as she desperately tried to piece together what had happened. She knew there had been blood, lots of blood. Her brow scrunched as she struggled to remember. Soon more memories came to her: father in her mother's arms slowly bleeding to death, dead servants littering the passage ways…her sweet nephew lying dead on the Antivan carpet. Tears started to sting her eyes as she laid motionless, fatigue and grief too strong for her to move. She was distantly aware that only bandages covered her upper torso, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care.

A whooshing sound to her right caused her to stir and slowly raise her head. Across from a blazing fire sat a man who looked vaguely familiar. The fire light reflected from his eyes as he regarded the forest surrounding them, eerily similar to those of a cat. Mildly surprised, she realized that it must be an elf sitting across from her, for what other race’s eyes reflected light in the dark?

His distraction gave her more time to study the elf, for he was strikingly familiar. He had been the Warden hadn’t he? Or was he simply with the Warden? Either way, it was the very same elf who had been in her bedroom the previous night.  _Or was it this night?_ She asked herself. Her mind struggled with memory and the events of Howe's treachery were all blurred together and jagged, much like the dreams that often plagued her. Fayne took a deep breath and again looked at the person across the fire. His sharp features were softened in deep contemplation.

As she tried to lift herself off of the ground, a sharp pain shot up through the side of her ribs and into her shoulder. Fayne arched her back and hissed through her teeth, but this movement only made the pain rise to unbearable levels. She could barely breathe, what was happening to her? It felt like an eternity until the stabbing pain receded into the background, leaving her breathless on the ground.

Thick clouds of mist rose from her mouth as she let out tiny puffs of air while she tried in vain to control the shudders that racked her body. Fatigue quickly replaced pain and Fayne found it hard even to attempt to push herself back into a sitting position. She could feel her eye lids being pulled down by some invisible force, but she fought it. She would fight this pain like she fought Howe and the disgusting pigs that served him.

"You should sleep." A bored voice said.

Fayne tilted her head up, she could barely see the face of the elf looking back at her through her watery eyes. The man made no move towards her, gave no helping hand, but rather watched her battered body on the ground. She realized how at a disadvantage she was, lying in the dirt with her wobbly arms barely holding her up. If this Dalish man so chose, he could have ended her right then.

With resolve harder than silverite, Fayne pushed up from the ground into a sitting position. It was a slow and painful process and for her and it felt like it took a hundred years, but by the end of it, she was in a somewhat less pathetic state than before. Pain like hot needles poked her ribs, but all she let show of it was a small frown, which she covered with a haughty look.

"Where are we?! Where are my parents?" a heated tone crept into her voice as she whispered the question at the elf.

He shrugged as he looked at her, "Dead."

"What do you MEAN dead?” she practically yelled. Fayne took a breath and lowered her voice, “What do you mean…are we are dead as well?"

His eyes snapped to her face and a calm smile replaced his tight lipped expression, "No… we are not dead. You are in a camp with Duncan and I." A strange lightness seeped into his voice then, "Your parents are the dead ones, do you understand now?"

Fayne bristled at his words. It was said in a way one might explain something to a child; condescending and oozing with false patience.

As if reading Fayne's mind, Leric's accommodating smile turned harsh and bared all teeth, "We are leaving at first light tomorrow. If you wish to live you will follow us. Go to sleep."

As Fayne watched him return to observing the fire, she thought of all the things she wanted to do to that elf. But the pain was too much, and as she lay her head back down, hatred seethed in her and carried her into a fitful sleep.

 


	8. Running

**Fayne POV**

 

They traveled for two days before she saw her moment.

The night was dark, with a sliver of a moon lighting the forest. As usual, Leric had been assigned to take the first watch, as Fayne was still healing from her injuries. Truthfully, her injuries had almost completely healed, but she decided to play up the ‘injured woman’ card to the fullest, hoping against all hope that both men would underestimate her enough to let their guard down.

Tonight they had – tonight Leric fell asleep on his watch. So she did the only thing she could think of, she ran.

There was barely enough light for her to find her way, but they had only just left Cousland land, so the terrain was not completely foreign to her. Her breath came out in great puffs as she weaved through bushes and trees, thin twigs slapping her in the face. The leaves which rushed past her face made fluttering noises and they almost sounded as if they were laughing at her. Their cruel remarks forced her to replay the events of her parent’s death.

 _Eventually_ , she thought,  _eventually I will find a village and those loyal to my family name_.

But even she knew running like a mad woman, through a pitch black forest, would most likely end up with her death, but was that really so bad? Anger and fear drove her, and it pushed her injured body beyond its limits. The wrappings around her ribs were becoming restricting and her lungs were burning fiercely. But no matter her pain or discomfort, Fayne was driven by one thought – the need for revenge against Howe. And she would be damned, if that heavy-handed Warden and his pet elf would stop her!

Loud rustling noises came from her left causing Fayne to stop dead in her tracks. She held her breath and waited for any other sound. After a few moments of hearing nothing but her own hammering heart, Fayne let out a sigh and went to take a step. Suddenly a loud snap came from behind her, the sign of something very heavy landing on a twig.

This far into the woods bears and wolves thrived, and being eaten was not in her plan, so she set off racing away from the noise. It could be a creature of the night, or the men back at camp, though she highly doubted the latter option. She had left the camp when both men were asleep and she knew that her light footfalls were not enough to wake them. She would be at least three hours away from them before they even realized that she was gone.

The noise came again, this time from in front of her and about a few meters away. Fayne paused, considering what lay ahead for she had no weapons, and no armour.

 _Stupid! Stupid!_ She chastised herself as the hairs on the back of her neck raised. Though she could see no further than a few feet, it felt like she was surrounded. She should have stolen at least a dagger before she left the camp.

A flickering shadow moved within the darkness and Fayne crouched down beside a tree. She slowly lowered her body further so that the thick shrubbery hid most of it. Slowly the shadow morphed into the shape of a large man, a hulking and bent figure that moved with clumsy steps. She stilled her breathing and tried to relax her tense muscles, the only thing she was capable of doing at the moment was hiding.

The dirt gave way under her working fingers as she kneaded the ground in anticipation. Had this mysterious figure seen her? She had to bit her lip to keep from laughing; though her situation was dire, it reminded her of playing hide and seek with Fergus. It was a highly inappropriate moment to be reminiscing – perhaps Duncan had damaged her mind when she was knocked unconscious. As she crouched behind the bush, all the fatigue and pain came in a great waved, as she realized that she would probably never see Fergus again.

It felt like hours that she was crouching there, but in reality it must have been mere moments. When the shadow started to move further away, Fayne let out a relieved breath, which was abruptly cancelled by a rough hand covering her mouth. She jerked her head forward and let out a muffled scream, but the hand tightened its grip on her, crushing and bruising her mouth.

With a jerk, the hand pulled her back and twisted her body around giving a hard push at the last second. She stumbled and looked behind her, somewhat relieved and incensed to find the stern face of Leric looking back at her. The man said nothing but pointed past her, and as she followed his hand, she could see Duncan standing near a large oak with weapons at the ready. He blended perfectly with the shadows and even in the moonlight she had a hard time seeing him. Unceremoniously, she was pushed again and with what dignity she had left, she marched toward Duncan.

When she reached Duncan he caught her arm in a vice like grip, "Planning on leaving were you?" his words were said in whispered tones, but the harshness of them frightened her, especially since he had one of his daggers in his other hand. He scanned the area and pulled Fayne alongside himself, setting a brutal pace back towards the camp. Fayne’s foot caught on a root and she stumbled forward, but Duncan yanked her arm, not slowing his strides for her.

Leric eyed her from the side and frowned, "I do not think we were seen” Leric whispered to Duncan, “We don’t need to rush.”

Duncan frowned, "It pays to be cautious, especially given how close we came to detection." At his words, Duncan’s grip on her arm tightened, his thick fingers started to dig painfully into her flesh.

"Yes... well, we wouldn't have to worry about being found at all if we could just….disposed of this unsuited cargo." Fayne didn't need to see Leric's face to know that he wore a smirk directed at her.

"You are as much to blame for their sudden appearance as she is at almost getting caught. Or had you forgotten your reason for being with me in the first place?" at that Duncan turned his head to regard the young man. Silence was the only answer Duncan received and it was the end to the heated whispers as they made their way back to camp.

Fayne tried to keep up with the conversation, but was finding it difficult. Who was that she had seen in the forest, and why was Duncan so adamant they avoid it?

As they made their way into the impromptu clearing, Leric rushed to pack up their belongings while Duncan threw Fayne a shirt.

She caught the garment and threw it on the ground, “Will someone please tell me what is going on?"

Duncan raised his head from folding the sleeping bags, "Darkspawn are in the vicinity, farther north than anticipated. Even though I am sure that it is just a scout, it could still prove dangerous to be found by one.” Fayne opened her mouth to ask more questions, but Duncan raised his hand to silence her, “Enough talking we must move quickly, and it seems you are capable of running." With that he unceremoniously threw her a pack at her. It was stuffed to the brim and Fayne donned with a cringe, it pulled at her torn muscles and stitched wounds.

"Duncan, will we be followed?" Leric asked, "you said earlier that I—,” Leric paused, his gaze resting on Fayne, “Do they have incentive to follow us?" at the last part of the question the elf’s eyes started to scan the forest.

Duncan was not quick to answer and she could practically hear the working of his brain, "I do not think the darkspawn understand what drew them to this area, let alone be able to pinpoint the source. Never the less you are acting like a magnet and the quicker we get away from them the better."

Fayne watched as Leric gave Duncan a sharp look and then picked up his bow with more force than necessary. Something was going on between the two of them.

"From now on I will tolerate no more disruptions." Duncan pointedly looked at Fayne, "we have little time to make it back to Ostagard and I do not plan on stopping, so both of you, steel yourselves as we have no time to waste."

 


	9. An Exchange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone that is reading and those of you who have left kudos - greatly appreciated!  
> This chapter will start moving the story into more adult themes, so please be aware violence and swearing are ahead.

**Fayne POV**

 

The rest of the trip to Ostagard went on relatively uneventful. Her anger over the death of her family had gone from a raging inferno down to a simmering heat. Once, she had been drive to escape the Warden and to rush back home, but after Duncan’s revelation, she had revaluated her position. Duncan had regretfully informed her that he had been following her father's wishes.

His last commands.

Naivety was never something she suffered from, and she was sure Duncan had made her father choose between her death and conscription. Regardless though, her father had made a final decision and she was behoved to obey.

She ate little and slept even less, and though she often saw the worried and disapproving glances Duncan would give her, she could change nothing. Nausea was a constant companion and she no longer felt safe to sleep; her dreams were now dark and twisted. The only positive thing that came from her constant nightmares was that her visions had stopped…at least for the time being. Now all that she had to contend with, the slaughter of her family playing over and over, in her mind.

Letting out a frustrated puff of air, Fayne swiftly kicked a rock over the dip of a grassy hill. It tumbled away, and for a moment Fayne stopped and watched it’s decent.  She wished her father had not bound her to the Wardens, she wished she could run away.

Air whooshed past her face as the body of Leric strode past her purposefully, his eyes never leaving the rolling planes. She swivelled her head to watch the men as they trudged through the knee-high grass with grace only trained warriors had. Fayne's fingers lightly brushed the tall grass as she turned to follow the two of them.

 

**Duncan POV**

 

The sun was turning a blazing orange as his group strolled through the broken pillars of Ostagard. He was amused at both their expression, at how wonder found its way past their defiantly neutral masks. The last week had been illuminating on all accounts. They each had quite the skill set and intelligence. They didn't know it yet, but both were so similar to each other; prideful and stubborn creatures that came with buried secrets.

It didn't take long for Duncan to see the familiar banners of all the Lord's men who came to stand with the King against the blight. Orange and yellow of the Avasters, the purple lion of Riverbridden and of course the grey griffin flew high above the rest alongside the King's golden mabari.  

Though he knew it would be hard for Fayne to see Highever's flag waving in the wind, he thought she might find a small amount of comfort in seeing something familiar, in finding solace with her family’s loyal men. Yet, as he scanned the camp, the Highever flag was nowhere to be seen.

Through his musings, Duncan had failed to notice the excited footsteps of a young officer coming towards him and his recruits. A frown creased his forehead as the young man's misplaced zeal. Joys were far and few between in an army camp and unbridled happiness like this was…strange.

With panting breaths, the man stopped before the group, "Warden Duncan you are just in time for an exciting event."  His hands fell to his knees as he took a deep breath, “the King’s scouts saw you and I was ordered to bring you at once!” The lad’s eyes quickly moved to the elf and then to Fayne, where they lingered a little longer than necessary. At Fayne’s raised eyebrow, the man blushed and looked away.

"What is this, an 'exciting' event on the eve of battle?" Duncan asked dryly, he was tired and sore, no longer did he want to be standing burdened with armour.

His tone or his expression sobered the officer a bit, “It is an execution Sir, one of great importance.  A traitor has been found amongst the King's men and he is to be sentenced upon sundown."

"An execution?" Surprised, Duncan's hand reflexidly reached out to stroke his beard, "Of a traitor you say?" Not since the war thirty years past had there been such execution. Orlais was still despised, but few believed spies existed in Ferelden any longer.

With a laugh the man said, "The traitor's head shall roll upon his own blood!"  The messenger nodded his head eagerly and advised them to return to the main camp as soon as possible.

Once the man was out of sight, Leric chose to speak, "Your kind is so odd. What a waste of time and effort to publicly display a traitor, why not kill him immediately."

Duncan turned his head and regarded the swarthy elf with the braided hair. before Dyncan could say anything, Fayne cut in, "And what, pray tell, do the Dalish do with your people when they shy away from duty?" Fayne came to stand next to Duncan with a positively feminine pose. Her left hand rested on her slanted hip as she questioned Leric, “Is it not prudent to make an example of a traitor? How can there possibly be order without well-known consequences?”

Leric bared his teeth and scoffed, "My PEOPLE….we don't call loyalty a duty. It is in our blood – in our shared history. Not one of my people would ever turn betrayer. We are all of the same mi-,"

"So let me get this straight, because you are Dalish, everyone gets along? Well, you do have a most excellent world, hunter." Her words dripped of sarcasm.

A creaking noise emanated from Leric's bow as it bent under his clenched fists. Danger flashed in his hazel eyes and Duncan knew it was time to intervene.

"We have wasted enough time here, come we need to find the other Grey Wardens and get the preparations for the ritual underway."

"Ritual?" a surprised tone crept into Leric's words and his brows drew down even more, if that was even possible.

Duncan dismissed the question by motioning the others to follow him. He had sent a letter a head of them by pigeon letting Alister and the other Wardens know that he had two new recruits. Time was of the essence as Leric was already tainted, a scenario he had not planned for. Hopefully Alistair and the two earlier recruits had already gone ahead into the Kacarni wilds and retrieved the darkspawn blood and treaties. With Leric's rapidly deteriorating heath, Duncan did not think he could withstand the wait it took for new recruits to travel in the wild. Indeed looking back at the elf, he could identify the final stages of the taint starting to claim the man's life. Leric's face was unnaturally pale, his eyes slightly wild looking and he had sweat dripping off his brow. The boy had maybe one or two days left at best, and then he would be too far gone for even the joining ritual to help.

Rough gravel gave way to smooth stone as they traveled across the white bridge connecting the two towers. Long ago the majesty of the place had been dulled by his regular visits; to him it was just another ruin, another reminder of the Tevinter power- a power that could not even withstand the darkspawn, a product of its own hubris.

Snapping the other two recruits from their wide and amazed gazes Duncan said, "Here is where you will be staying until after the joining." He motioned behind him, "Most of the king's forces are this way and if you need repairs done you will find plenty of smithies and crafts men to meet your needs." He shrugged his shoulders, "Don't get too caught up in camp business however, I need you to meet up with the me in front of the northern bon fire at sunset, there we may discuss further details about your roles."

A swift nod came from Leric as his long strong strides took him across the bridge. Fayne, however, was more hesitant he noticed. Her eyes lingered on the entry way they had just come from.

"There is no going back Fayne, however much you wish things to be different there is only the here and the now. It is a painful lesson, yes, but one you must learn fast if you are to be one of us." He didn't wait for her reply as he made his way across the bridge. Sentries, who watched over all the gates, now knew what his two recruits looked like - and they also knew that neither were allowed to leave the premises.

 

**Fayne POV**

 

He just left.

The maker-damn man just left her there, standing on the bridge like some scorned child. If decorum hadn't prevented it she would have told the man to stuff his pearls of wisdom up his Grey Warden arse. What did he know of regrets and the pain of losing a family?

Glaring after the man, Fayne let out a resigned sigh and started to walk across the old bridge.Its grey blocks were each about 20 feet long and equally as wide. It must have taken a great feat of engineering to build Ostagard. Even now after countless years and battles, the ruin stood proudly against the Chasind filled forest.

Her body ached and chaffed against the too large armour that she wore. Another reminder of just how hasty she had made her retreat from her home. Forced to wear Duncan's spare set, she had blisters and red marks on her chest where the outfit was too tight. A single tear slide down her cheek and she slowly brushed it away. She would not cry, not now, and not ever again, over what happened to her family. She need to be strong – revenge may be a dish served best cold, but it was a dish she would have to serve herself.

Some man greeted her as she passed, said something asinine to her about ‘congratulations at becoming a Warden’, but his voice was merely another source of noise in the bustling camp. She paid it no more mind then she did the servants and crafts men who shouted orders and scurried along her path. She felt like she was in a haze; she saw but didn't really see, and she felt but she felt like she was separate from all the others.

The sound of a blacksmith cut loudly across the camp and as the repetitious sound came again, Fayne found herself heading towards the shop on the corners of the camp.

"Can I help yah, don't got no time for lookey-fucks."

"I am here for a new set of armour," she responded dryly.

He seemed engrossed in his work until he had heard her voice. Quickly he rose up and dusted his hands on his apron, "Oh pardon me my lady, if I had known…. well it gets hectic in a place like this you know." Her eyebrow was still raised as she watched the chubby blacksmith wring his hands on his apron not even acknowledging he had said anything.

At her continued silence, the blacksmith started to fidget, "Ah… you’ll be wanting that armour now. Yes I be back in a second." With that the man disappeared into a tent and returned with a dark leather armour set for a woman. She had to admit, the man had a good eye for sizing; it would be a good match for her. As she stood there appraising the ensemble she realized with a sinking feeling, that she had no money or any way to pay the man. Her gold and all her belongs were now in the hands of Renden Howe.

"That will be ten silver my lady." Fayne stared blankly at the man while he awaited her coin, her face unreadable. Without further comment she turned her back and started to walk away.

"Wait! Lady… you are in desperate need of this armour." The blacksmith's flustered voice started to again hold confidence, "I can tell just from lookin at yah, your current armour is unsuitable.” His face twisted into a grin, “And I take it, since you have walked away from my very well-priced offer, that you have no coin. Am I right?"

Fayne was no longer walking away from the man, rather she was scanning the area feigning a look of disinterest. The blacksmith lowered his voice, "I will make a deal with you…a very good deal indeed.” His voice has gone down to a whisper and it forced Fayne to move closer to hear what he had to say, “ There are very few woman in the King's army… and certainly less with looks as fins as yours. For this armour, all I ask for a bit of your time... call it services rendered."

Both desperate and disgusted with herself, Fayne closed her eyes and bit out, "How long?"

She waited as the man let out an expectant breath, "Mmmm for one such as you," she could hear him walking closer behind her and was not shocked to feel the man's hand firmly take hold of her buttock, "Two hours… uninterrupted."

She whirled around and found herself face to face with the stout man's yellow toothed grin, one that belonged more on a cat than a man, "You will have only one hour of my time." She tried making her tone as business like as possible, hiding the quivering of her bottom lip.

The man’s finger kneaded into her ass and trailed up her side. The touch was repulsive, and Fayne fought the instinct to recoil as goose bumps rose across her arms. She didn't want to do this, the Maker only knew how much she didn't want to, but she had no other resources at her disposal. And she would rather be a whore than ask for any assistance from the fucking Wardens.

"Deal! Come this way my lady." The man extended his arm motioning her into the tent behind the shop. His steps becoming as eager as his eyes, she followed after him with the grace and pride drilled into her from birth. Fayne hid her fear behind a cool mask, and hid her disgust with smooth gaits.

As she ducked her head into the small opening of the tent, she told the man, "Call me something else – anything else but ‘my Lady’. What you call me, I do not care, but I am a Lady no longer."

* * *

 

It was well into the evening when she pulled back the flap of the small tent and emerged into camp. Stretching she flexed her arms and legs trying to get some feeling back into them. The man, whose name she didn't bother learning, was lying on the cot in a blissful sleep, something Fayne was sure she would never have again.

Her fingers glided across the smooth black leather that now adorned her body like a cook would inspect a piece a meat. It was very fine craftsmanship and fit her like a second skin. But was it worth the price? Her fingers stopped halfway along her arm and she let them fall to her side where part of her outfit was still undone. Numbly she started to tie the strings back together, acting as if nothing of importance had just occurred.

Taking a deep breath Fayne walked away from the tent while tying up the last ties to her leathers. It didn't matter if it was right or wrong, what she had done was purely out of necessity. Hadn't Duncan said something along the lines that Grey Warden did whatever they had to in order to win. Well, she definitely didn't want to bed that man, but she also didn't want to die due to ill-fitting armour.

But what little solace she found in her cold reasoning could not wash away how very dirty she felt at that moment. It had not been a quick affair, something she had been hoping for. Instead, the unremarkable man had had enough stamina to use all the time allotted to him. He had grasped and touched with such skill that, disgustingly, she had come undone at his use of her. She remembered how he felt when he filled her and how her body had ultimately betrayed her – had felt pleasure were she had willed herself not to. She could still see the surprised look on his face as she clenched and unclenched around him.  How he had tilted his head back while thrusting, laughing deeply at her body’s reaction compared to her blank facial expression.

Quick almost frantic steps took her farther and farther from the man's tent. To her great dismay, Fayne soon found herself running away in a panic.

But no one seemed to care.

She was just another person among many, who was in a hurry. She stopped running after only a couple of seconds, but her breathing was fast and rapid, like she had just been in battle. It took all of her control not to shout, for that was what she really wanted to do. She wanted to scream, to pull her hair out in frustration and to lament all her sorrow for her pain. The world was a cruel place and she wanted to tell it exactly how she felt about it.

Shouting voices drew her attention from herself and Fayne looked towards the commotion. The source lay somewhere behind a large pedestal, and before making any conscious thought, she found her feet starting off towards that way. The closer she got to the group, the clearer the shouting became. Words like 'traitor' and 'hang him' assaulted her ears.

People stood shoulder to shoulder, blocking the view. With minimal effort Fayne was able to maneuver her way into the throng of people, silently gliding past armoured bodies. A king’s guard was shouting and wildly gesturing on the platform. Behind the man knelt a ragged figure with his body bent almost totally to the ground. When Fayne could move no further into the group, she stopped and spoke to the person beside her, “What is going on?"

A small female elf servant quickly glanced in Fayne's direction and then looked away back to the speaker,"Tis the traitor ma'am, he will be beheaded soon." Disgust and excitement filled the young elf's voice.

"Well that's an extreme sentence; there hasn't been a beheading in Ferelden for at least a decade."

"That may be ma'am, but they said this man not only betrayed our King, but his family to. Was plotting to have them all killed for Orlesian gold. I heard his actions already caused his family’s death and that of his wife and son. Don't you think he should die for such terrible deeds?"

Fayne tilted her head, for such extreme grievances no reparation but one's life could be paid, "Yes, yes I do agree. For a man such as that only death would suffice-," Fayne's words were drown out by a cheering chant from the crowd saying "kill him, kill him" over and over.

Finally it died down when a highly armoured figure raised his hand, “You are all here to witness the death of a maggot - a piece of scum who doesn't deserve to be called a man."

The crowd roared their approval of his words.

At his gesture the crowed settled down again, "But do not fear, we will cast him from the Maker and he shall find no peace without a head!"

Roughly, the guard grabbed a handful of the man's hair and yanked it up, forcing the traitor to face the hungry crowd. Fayne was now close enough to see the man clearly. As people spat at him and yelled curses at him, she sucked in a startled breath. She would recognize that sharply defined face and deep brown hair anywhere.

The guard held the prisoner by the hair, and loudly asked, "Any last words, Fergus Cousland, before you meet your Maker?"

 


	10. The Last Cousland

**Fayne POV**

 

_Fergus!_

Her throat caught as she chocked on a shocked gasp. It could not be possible, how had her brother come to such a state?

_It cannot be…it cannot be!_

The mantra seemed to repeat itself over and over in her head, but as Fayne stood there, watching him there was no denying that it was her brother. Seconds seemed like an eternity as she stared at the broken man on the dais. And he was broken, a shell of his former self with his posture bent, and dark shadows under his eyes.  Her face felt hot while her hands turned chilled as they lay limply by her sides.

She wished she could say that it wasn’t Fergus that the man sentenced to death was just an impostor. However when her brother's eyes locked on hers, and relief flooded in his, she knew without a doubt that it was Fergus. She could hear pounding in her ears, a sort of frantic hum that filled her them, and when she could take no more she let out a vicious scream. Heads turned as she let out all her anger at Howe, all her self-pity, and sorrow for her family.

The female elf, which had stood beside her, tumbled to the ground as Fayne pushed her and the other people aside. She had to get to her brother, sort out the madness of the whole situation. The King would be just, would be willing to listen. All she had to do was stop the execution – for she was evidence enough that not all of the Cousland line were dead. She would testify! Yes, she would shed light on all the deceit and lies spread by Howe, and she would be the one to watch _his_ head roll.

The others onlookers stood in shocked silence at her display of emotion, confusion etched on their faces. Even the guard that held her brother's head seemed taken aback by the wild fury behind her lament. The silence did not last long though, for the mob (and it was an angry one now) saw her emotion as rage against the criminal, and soon other voices were raised to join hers. Curse and oaths were thrown about in the crowd and people, total strangers screamed for his head. How could these people be so angry?  They did not even know Fergus, they didn’t even know the truth of the situation – the whole thing was mad!

She pushed against the group and finally reached the podium to come face to face with her brother. His eyes though blood shot, looked relieved and shocked at her sudden appearance, “I… I thought you were dead, they said everyone was gone."

A sob came from Fayne's as she realized how pitifully weak her brother's voice was. It was no longer the commanding and strong tone she had come accustomed to, rather it was scratchy and worn, like clothing dried to many times.

"No, my brother," Fayne tried to put her hand on his dirt ridden cheek and only managed to brush his chin, "I... survived."

Some person pushed her further to the dais as the crowd become uncontrollable. The guard let go of Fergus and moved to the other end on the dias to push some of the people away – they were more rabid than rational now, trying to climb the steps to get to Fergus.

He tried to move closer to Fayne, but the chains pulled against his arms, "My wife, and Oren… what of them?'  Fergus asked, his voice full of panic and hope.

Fayne opened her mouth to answer, but found herself suddenly and forcefully whipped around. There were hands on both her arms and she was being dragged through the crowd and away from her brother. On her left side Duncan had a firm grasp of her arm, and the other one was pulled by a man she didn't recognize. He was tall and muscular with strawberry blond hair. Neither man spoke to her as their eyes scanned the crowd and pulled her away. They both wore matching sets of stern expressions as their unforgiving steps pulled squirming body out of view.

She struggled, digging her heels in the dirt and twisting, but all it got her were pulled muscles and red marks. As Fayne turned her head in hopes of seeing her brother's face, her eyes instead beheld a large man walking up the platform carrying a wickedly sharp looking axe.

"No, NO! Let me go.” She turned to appeal to the Warden, “That is my brother Duncan, my BROTHER!"

He looked at her then, his hard eyes softening slightly against her tear streaked face, “There is nothing you can do except get yourself killed Fayne. Don't you think they might want your head too if they suspected that you are a Cousland as well.” He looked away and steered her in the direction of the Warden camp, “I may be a Grey Warden, but I cannot guarantee your protection.  If the king so ordered your death…well there are more men loyal to him than to us."

Fayne squeezed her eyes shut, trying desperately to believe that none of it was real. But she knew Duncan was right, there was nothing she could do besides join her brother in a shallow grave marked by Howe.  She had promises to keep, vows of vengeance to fulfil and getting killed would put all those plans to rest.

However, there was one small thing she could do for her brother. One small gift of kindness and defiance she could do before she was completely out of sight of Fergus.Ripping one arm away from the blond man, Fayne turned to look at Fergus. His head was now lying sideways on a pedestal eyes locked with hers. Taking one large breath, Fayne yelled at the top of her lungs, "THEY LIVE – THEY YET LIVE!"

She feared her shout would be drowned out by the noise of the crowd, but Fergus's eyes suddenly relaxed and looked relieved – he must have heard her then. Good.  Fayne simply could not bring herself to tell him that his family was brutally murdered, better to give him hope in his last breaths. He would die thinking his family was alive, it was the least she could do. Offer him peace were all that awaited him was injustice.

His eyes slowly closed as a smile emerged from the darkness of his face. Fayne too found her face melt into a smile in response to her brother's relieved expression; it made her feel like they were the only two in the world and that maybe things would be alright.

That serene image was shattered completely as the axe swung down. Her brother's head rolled to the ground and landed with a thud on the packed earth. Where there was once her brother’s warm face, in its place was nothing but an oozing bright red stump. The smile froze on her face and she felt as if time had suddenly sped up out of control. She could not move, could not breathe. Fayne wanted to look away, but could not; she was transfixed by the sight of her brother’s body. The wild cheers of the crowd became a muted background noise as her heart sped up seeming to want to jump out of her chest.

Hot tears came from her eyes much like the blood fell in rivulets from her brothers severed neck. That neck, it seemed to mesmerize her, to call to her. Even as the arms began pulling on Fayne again she could not stop staring at the severed body. Only until a pair of calloused hands forcefully pulled her face away from the sight, did Fayne let go of the vision that so captivate her.

As they made their way through the camp, Fayne stared forward with a blank look. The arms were no longer pulling her, but rather keeping her standing. She didn’t care where she was going, could hardly form a coherent thought at the moment. She did not notice the concerned expression on the blond strangers face, or the way his large hand rubbed soothing circles on her back.

 

**Leric POV**

 

It was the last time a Shem took him for a servant, the last time he would keep his temper in check. So with quick reflexes Leric swung out and punched the man in the side of the head, watching with satisfaction as the human tumbled to the ground. The warden beside him, Timith, shook his head in irritation. This Warden was supposed to keep an eye of him and make sure the taint did not move too fast within his body, but the man had no idea who he was really dealing with. He did not need a baby sitter and Leric refused to be managed like some bratty child – he was well past adolescents. Over the course of the last couple of hours, Timith had spent more time preventing Leric from hurting someone else then preventing the taint from consuming the elf.

With a surprising loud crash the wagon and all the pottery fell into a heap upon the earth and small painted bits of pottery flew like marbles across the dirt. Though the man was completely unconscious, other people, particularly angry Shems started towards both him and the Grey Warden.

"Come on let’s move recruit" the gruff voice of Timith grated Leric's nerves as the older man tugged at him and brought him away from the people. His scarred face and hands were weathered and tanned, but his eyes were sharp and almost cruel. Leric didn't know what happened, most likely the result of a darkspawn attack, but a long scar that stretched across the man's face left him with a perpetual twisted expression.

"Let me go." It sounded petulant even to his ears so he was not surprised to see Timith's frown become darker.

"Great!" The Warden threw his hands in the air, "Absolutely great, not only do I have to do menial tasks before the battle, but I also have to play baby sitter to a wild elf."

"I am not 'a wild elf'" Leric responded dryly.

"Eh... ya'll are the same to me. Dalish, wild elf, just another title on the same product, anyway where I hale from ya'll be called the Wilders."

"So I take it you come from the Free Marshes then. Your people are the only Shems to call us by another name." Leric again took in the appearance of the senior warden, but this time he could identify  the slight Free Marshes accent.

"Doesn't re'lly matter, we are all of the same brotherhood now, or in your case may soon well be." With that Timith and Leric began the quick retreat back to the Warden camp.

Leric was not pleased to be surrounded by the other wardens and have to face their knowing gaze. Their eyes watched his every move with calm alertness, as if waiting for him to cast aside his Elvin skin and proudly done the mantle of a shriek. Though they were polite, each person kept a distance both physically and mentally. It was fine for Leric, for he did not intend to be jovial and friendly, he intended to get the ritual over with and do his duty, nothing more and nothing less.

So Leric sat at the camp and watched the bustle of people and the goings on of the Wardens. At some point someone had left him some lamb stew, but when he bent down to take it, a strong wave of nausea threatened to take over and he dismissed the notion of eating for that night. He desperately wanted to bath and wash the sweat that trickled down his brow in earnest now; he could not understand how some of the men had blankets wrapped around them when it was so hot outside. It felt like the air had been put into a furnace.

The heat became so stifling that at one point Leric found that he had to sit far away for the group and get some fresh air. Without saying a word he exited the perimeter and sat on a near by felled tree. It was not as grand as the ones he grew up with and to him the forest in the area held despair and longing for something more. Reaching out with his hand the elf touched the birch and let the rough texture pull at his skin.

With a hushed voice and a soft tone he began to talk to the tree in his native tongue, "Owyn daes al'damner, pas gelaehte se deema hi aepele caesetir arrd'mid cempan." He took the time to say the things he never got to say to Tamlin, and spoke words he wished he could have said to comforted his friend. But instead he said them to a dead tree cut down by the Shems he despised so much.  _Tamlin, I wish…I wish you were here to give me strength for I fear that hatred will take over me again._

"Duncan that was her brother, how could you-,"

"Enough! Alistair…you know what would have happened had word spread that she was still alive, it seems Howe has the ear of the king, or Loghain."

Leric stopped his thoughts as the voices of two men floated from beyond a row of trees that obscured his vision. The first voice was young sounding and unknown to him, but the second one belonged to a man he knew… and wished he had never met. Leric had only a couple of seconds to right himself before the two men appeared.

Duncan and the other man stopped short when they saw him, and the person whom they held between them sagged a little in their arms. Bright red hair covered their shoulders as a pale face looked glazed out towards the gate.

"Duncan, Fayne, and... sir" Leric tilted his head to each person and let a mocking tone fill his voice.

He was pleased to see the eyes of the two men hardened at his tone, but the blank stare he received from Fayne sent chills down his spine. Although he cared little for the human, he had been around her enough to know that she would respond in kind to any snarky remark he made. Her silence was strange and when her eyes met his, or more correctly passed his, they seemed lifeless. Inadvertently he took a step away from the woman and the shadow that surrounded her.

"What happened to the female human?"

"Yes Duncan, why don't you tell him what happened." the tall blond human replied looking at Duncan.

Ignoring both the younger man and himself, Duncan turned and looked at Leric, "Good. You are here, we have wasted enough time we will have the joining now."

Fayne almost hit the ground when the other man dropped her shoulder in shock, "What! We can't do that. Duncan look at her, she can't go through with this."

"She will go through with it, she has no choice. We do not have the luxury of time to wait for every broken heart." Duncan started to walk again towards a set of ruins which forced the younger Shem to follow so Fayne would not fall.

Leric followed not far behind the two men,  _for you my brother I shall get revenge for you._

 

**Other POV**

 

He watched as the two men and the woman walked towards an old looking monument, though the woman hardly held her own weight. As he sat on his haunches he found frustration seep into him and anger rode quickly after. He had been so close to fulfilling his mission, one of the most important ones he had ever had and would ever have in his whole life.

If it were not for the fact that he had to stay hidden up in the tree he would have yelled out his furry. Though that would do him little good, he could not be found. He had been lucky enough to slip past the front guards by using his shadow skills, but he dare not try that so close around a camp full of Grey Wardens. The pathetic group of men had an innate ability to smell and feel a threat from miles away and he was not going to test his luck again.

No, he prided himself with being well planned and meticulous, something that came only after years of patience being taught to him. He would wait for the perfect moment in which he could fulfill the desire of the Maker and to do the bidding of the forces of good. Sitting back against the tree he smiled widely and the moon shined off his pearly white teeth.

_You shall be mine fool, and the Maker will guide my hand and strengthen my will to fight what you will surely bring._

 


	11. Join us, Brothers and Sisters

**Leric POV**

 

The march up weathered grey stone steps was silent and solemn; even the wild birds stilled their calls as the group passed them. The winds were calm for the moment and in them a certain sense of waiting prevailed. Leric didn't know if the humans could sense the undercurrents of nature as he could, but they too were silent. The blond Warden looked the weariest.

Duncan motioned for Leric to move towards a long wooden table in the middle of the ruins. If Duncan’s expression was anything to go by, what was to happen next must not be pleasant. The hairs on the back of his neck rose as he surveyed the area, where were they? In his short amount of time in camp, he had not come across this specific place. It was dreary and secluded, he would have definitely remembered it if he had been here before.

The other young warden half dragged, half carried, Fayne towards where he was standing. He could not understand why she was acting the way she was, her eyes were open and she could walk, albeit shakily. But it seemed without the young man’s assistance, she would fall into the ground. Perhaps she had been injured while wonder camp?

Catching himself staring at the Shem female, Leric quickly averted his eyes and preoccupied himself with watching Duncan's actions. The man's broad shoulders hid his movements, but it looked like he was mixing something inside a golden chalice. The action only lasted a couple of minutes and then Duncan turned around with the worn goblet in his hands, it was full to the brim with a deep red liquid.

"In order to become a Warden, you must know your enemy from the inside out; you must take a part of them into your soul." Duncan walked up to Leric and looked the elf in the face, "You must drink the blood of the darkspawn for it is your only hope and your only chance at survival." He handed the cup over to Leric who took it in silently shaking hands.

"And if I do not drink this, what then?" Leric asked as he eyed the liquid in the chalice. It seemed to move on its own within the cup and he had to fight his gag reflex.

"Then… we will have no choice but to end your life. Drink.” Leric watched as Duncan’s hand hovered near his dagger by his waist.

Duncan's words were ridged as steel and as cold too. Leric did not think the man was bluffing, so he brought the cup to his lips and poured down the viscous liquid. It was thick and sticky, fighting against the muscles of his throat as it burned the lining of his esophagus. He jerked violently and Duncan moved to catch his falling body. Leric felt himself be gently led to the ground and then he could feel nothing.

Suddenly his surroundings changed and the grey ruins morphed into an endless field of green and purple, the kind of colouring found on decayed flesh. The air was thick and had a rotten sweetness to it that made Leric gag. It must be a dream he reasoned, for no place looked like this, this place was all wrong. He attempted  to breath slowly through his mouth, to avoid the sench of the ground. Besides the suffocating decay nothing lay in the emptiness, not even a starch patch of weeds.

He didn't know what compelled him to turn around and look the other way, the only way he could describe it was a pull of some sorts. No sound could be heard, so Leric was completely thrown off when behind him stood a tall figure. It was at least two heads taller than him and seemed too far bent forward at the waste. If the figure was human, it bore no similarities other than having a face, which was almost unrecognizable due to extensive decay.

A hand reached out towards him, and Leric found himself transfixed by the creatures snake like voice, "My brother come with meeeeeeeee"

The word brother quickly snapped Leric out of whatever hold had taken control of him, "I am no brother of yours!" The only person he ever considered to be a brother was now lost to the taint, lost to him. However the words seemed to have little effect on the creature, for it slid closer, its foul breath making Leric's nostril flare like that of a halla scenting a wolf.

"You are ussssssss now, do not fight usssss let it take you brother" as the figure made to grab him, Leric yelled at the top of his lungs and covered his head with his hands. However when he opened his eyes again he was no longer in the dark purple land, but at the ruins alone beside a stone wall.  _Was it all a dream_ , thought Leric as he shivered in fear,  _what sort of sick twist of fate has left me here?_

Bile rushed up his throat and he heaved himself off the ground and threw up on the ruin. Leric looked up and saw the two wardens leaning over another body on the ground. By the hair colour alone, Leric could tell it must be Fayne. Worry filled him in a second…would she be alright?  

Voicing Leric’s own thoughts, Alistair whispered, "Will she be alright Duncan?"

Duncan stood to full height after retrieving the fallen chalice, and walked over to the wooden table where he placed the cup, "She will survive, just like the elf."

At the word elf, Leric ripped his gaze from Fayne's unconscious form and into the eyes of the dark human, who stood still as he gazed back at the elf. Quickly the young human half jogged half walked over to him and knelt down into a crouch, "Oh thank the Maker, I was worried the taint would have taken you."

Leric regarded the human and mentally sneered, so… another devote person who prayed to false gods, "The Maker had nothing to do with this, Shem."

His words seemed to have caught the man off guard, for he quickly stood and turned red, "I… I meant no disrespect Leric. I simply…oh well, sod it! I will go with something easier, my name is Alistair junior grey Warden" the bow the man gave Leric was not returned nor were the amicable words.

"How is the woman?" Leric's question was directed to Duncan as he dismissed the younger man: this Alistar, held no importance. Though many females back in his tribe may have swooned over his red cheeks and quick smile, Leric found the qualities annoying.

Duncan walked closer, "She is fine, but her battle with the taint is taking longer than yours. I have faith in her ability to withstand it.”

 

**Fayne POV**

Duncan's words were one monotonous sound that had neither decipherable beginning nor an end. She had some understanding of where she was and what was about to happen. Gentle hands helped her grip the chalice and bring it to her lips, and when she tried to spit out the disgusting liquid those gentle hands were quick to force her mouth shut.

 It _burned_ , Maker did it burn going down her throat. Her vision dimmed and she hoped that a restful oblivion would take over her mind and allow her to rest. She could no longer sleep without seeing her dead family's faces. Instead though, the unconsciousness which gripped her, threw her into an odd memory. That was how her visions always worked; they started out as her own memories and then morphed into events that would happen.

Slowly images of her room filled in the black nothingness and Fayne found herself sitting on her old bed back in castle Highever, clad in a delicate green robe. The bright colour and almost natural feel of imported silk meant that this vision was going to be a strong and clear one. Even though she knew where she was and that this was not reality, she took a moment to enjoy what she used to have.  

Looking out the tall narrow window, Fayne could see the sun setting in a mix of orange and yellow, a most breathtaking hue. However as she sat there, the colours changed from beautiful to a blazing brightness that seemed unnatural and fierce. She let out an alarmed yell and shielded her eyes against the intense blaze. Her door too, had the same intense colour coming from underneath it, and so with shaking hands, Fayne found herself opening it to look beyond the borders of her room.

Instead of finding her hallway, Fayne was thrust into the middle of a battle field painted red from the numerous dead littering the ground. Her feet sunk into the soft ground as blood pooled around her feet. A man yelled off in the distance, and his cry carried above the background noise. She ran towards the cry, and as she looked around, Fayne realized she recognized this place. It was Ostagard; the various heraldry lay scattered on around the camp and the battlefield lay in ruin. The shock of it stilled her feet and she just stared at the carnage and at the men who had fallen.

By the time she reached the area where the screams came from, all was silent. It seemed as though a fierce battle had been fought in this area, but she saw no fighting. Only one body lay on the grass in an oddly twisted fashion, and as she came closer Fayne immediately recognized the figure.

It was Duncan.

The fearless Grey Warden lay at her feet, slowly drowning in a pool of his own blood. Fayne took another step closer and leaned down to get a good look at Duncan. She knew she should have felt some remorse…perhaps even fear, but instead all she felt was happiness. No… _happiness_ was not the correct word; rather it was a feeling like something that rightfully should have happened did, it was justice in her eyes.

Without further examination Fayne turned her back on her dying commander and made her way around the army assessing damage. Years of tutorage from Aldus had left her with a keen eye for battle and politics, and that eye clearly identified what went amiss.

It seemed as though Loghain, who Duncan said had offered support for the king's army, had quit the field and left the king to die with the other wardens. It was the only logical explanation as his men were nowhere to be found. There was too much betrayal and lies, and too much death in this area and it made her head swim. She had never in her life had such a vivid premonition, never experienced such clarity. It was hurting her head and her heart to witness all this death, hadn’t she seem enough already? Giving up, Fayne laid herself down on the bloodied ground and closed her eyes; she did not want to see anymore.

With a sickening rush, Fayne found her heart's beat pick up in speed and a nausea sweep into her stomach, the signs that she was coming to. Reluctantly she opened her eyes and was met with the same blazing orange that had been in the vision.

Closing her eyes again she murmured in a horse voice, "It can't be. The vision so soon has become reality?"

"Ah I see you are awake young lady." the clear voice of a woman caused Fayne to sit up abruptly and look around with wild eyes. She was no longer in the dilapidated ruin, but resting on a warm cot in a tent.

A quiet voice murmured, "I must give you congratulations on becoming the newest member of the Wardens." Wrinkled hands gently patted her shoulder.

Fayne snapped and shook of the hands, "Congratulations? You are congratulating me on this!" her voice rose to a starling pitch, but the gray haired woman just frowned and sat down beside her on the bed. Feeling guilty for treating her elder as such, Fayne placed her head I her hands and sighed, "You must forgive me, I ah.., I ah," Fayne found herself choked with tears.

"It is alright dear; you have had quite a shock to the system. Though I am curious…." Fayne looked to the older woman with an open face waiting for the question.

"You said, dear, that the vision was to become a reality. What did you mean?"

Fayne tried to school her face, but she knew she must have lost all colouring in her completion.  Startled, the old woman reached over and touched Fyane on the cheek. A warm glow filled her vision and Fayne felt her anxiety disappear.

 A _mage._

That was most unexpected and not completely welcomed. She did not necessarily hate mages, thought it stupid the Chantry feared them. But she had an ingrained mistrust of magic, perhaps stemming from her almost magical abilities? She was not one of these people, could find no solace with other mages. But she also could not claim to be normal….and this made her resentful of her place – she fit in nowhere.

 And as she was about to practice a well-rehearsed lie, she found herself dying to have someone to share the experience with and the secret with, and who better than a mage? Her last visions had been beyond horrifying and stronger than she had ever felt before – she needed to tell someone or else she might go mad. Grasping her head she let out a shaky breath and considered her options. This old mage was well past her prime, could not possibly be a threat. And in the end, Fayne still had more standing then the Chanty leashed-mage. Should this woman break her confidence, Fayne would just deny everything.

She slowly began telling the woman about her 'curse' as her mother called it, and how it was unreliable at best and how it haunted her dreams. The older woman looked fascinated and for the first time Fayne wondered if she had made a mistake telling this woman about her secret, something that could get her locked up or killed by the templars. Her mother often said that Fayne's ability was a slap in the face to the Maker.

However when Fayne finished, the older woman leaned back and got a contemplative expression, "I see…it is most unique, this ability of yours child." That was all the woman got to say before a yelling patient demanded her attention else were.

Fayne grabbed the mages hand before she got too far, "Wait. My name is Fayne, what is yours?"

The woman dipped her head, "My name is Wynn, and it was a pleasure to meet you Fayne."

Although everything in her mind told Fayne that she had done the wrong thing in trusting her secret with another, she felt oddly satisfied that the woman had still treated her like a sane person and not gone running to the nearest templar. It didn't even cross Fayne's mind to tell anyone of what the vision was actually about, about how soon everyone in the place would be dead. She felt the pang of guilt for all the young men and the mages, including Wynn, who would fall, but she would sacrifice them all ten times if it meant that every time Duncan would have a painful death.

 _Speak of the devil and he shall come_ , thought Fayne as she spied Duncan, Leric, and the man called Alistair, making their way towards her. She jumped up quickly and placed a steadying had on the edge of the bed.

“Excellent, I see that you are awake. Come with us, it time that I give you all the standing orders from the King." Duncan gave her a once over and nodded as if satisfied.

She clenched her fists and cooled her temper; she needed to keep in control. In an overly sweet voice, Fayne said, "Very well Commander, shall we go discuss these plans." Fayne extended her arm and fell into step beside Leric.

Duncan looked slightly shocked be her easy acquiescence and Fayne almost laughed. She smirked at him as he ducked out of the tent. _You will be out of my way soon enough,_ she thought will delight.

“ _Creepy_ ” said a voice to her left.

Fayne turned to look at the other man and recognized him from earlier. His name was…Alan? No, Alistair, or something along those lines -  It did not really matter. She frowned at him and quickly left the tent.

She could hear him talking to Leric as they left the tent, “Is she always like this…all creepy smiles and frowning?”

Leric grunted and said, “She does not smile much.”

She could feel when Leric caught up to her, his long strides easily keeping up with her rushed steps. Some of the tension left her shoulders then and she could not identify why she now felt so comfortable around the grumpy elf. He had not even acknowledged her presences, but his steady steps and silently calm demeanour soothed her raging mind.

Duncan stopped in front of a large bonfire, "We have been given orders, by the king, to have you…,” Duncan nodded his head to Fayne , "Leric and Alistair light the signal beacon at the tower of Ishal."

"What!? Duncan, you cannot be serious?  The king needs three Wardens to light a signal fire?" Alistair’s face was bright red as he gestured wildly.

Duncan sighed, "These are not my orders, and they are our kings so they must be followed."

A frown creased Alistar's face, "I just can't believe-"

Leric stepped up, "It is not our place to believe, correct Duncan? All we do is nod and follow orders?" It was a low jab at the older warden, but Fayne felt the need to contribute to the harassment. After all the man would be dead soon and she had limit time to let him know exactly how she felt about him.

"I think you are right, Leric. We are no longer people, but simply pawns for the Wardens to throw at the most menial of tasks." Fayne crossed her arms and turned her back on Duncan.

Duncan raised his voice, "If you three petulant _children_ are done voicing opinions that matter not, then go get ready to light the beacon. Soon the battle will begin and I have other things to do." With that Duncan stormed away from the group leaving both Leric and Fayne satisfied, but Alistar looked like a kicked dog.

A sudden chill crept into Fayne's skin causing her to convulse once and then froze all her muscles in place. The sensation ended quickly, but as the cold started to recede, so too did her surroundings as they bled into darkness. It was just like one of her visions, but this had never happened when she was awake.  _What is happening_? Fayne was frantic, how was this happening when she was awake?

Three people came running from behind her and they passed through her as if she was a ghost. Fayne gasped and grabbed her chest. It was never a pleasant sensation to have someone run straight through one’s body. She followed the trio as they made their way to a grey tower – fighting beats as they went. The image changed and she was now at the top of the tower watching Leric kill an ogre. The change in scenery left her dizzy and she grasped a wall for support, if Leric was here then so would be Alistair and herself. She understood now, this must be the tower f Ishal, where the beacon had to be lit.  

A casting mage was felled by a giant beast and he fell dead to the floor. Darkspawn had obviously overridden the tower and the camps defenses. Leric was neck to fall, shot in the chest with three arrows. Fayne let out a startled cry as she went to catch his falling body, but her advanced was stopped by another form crashing into the wall in front of her. She froze in fear, that was her lying in a pool of her own blood and skull crushed in.

It seemed like ages to Fayne, but when her natural surroundings returned both men seemed to have not noticed what happened. Fayne was still in shock over seeing her own death that she did not even acknowledge Alistair's parting suggestion that they move closer to the tower. Only when Leric's firm grip seized her arm roughly did she snap out of the vision induced haze.

"Are you alright?" his question was simple, but Fayne found it hard to from logical words, for her mouth was dry and her lips felt swollen and useless. Again he shook her, "You know I need to know if you are too weak to fight, you are already such a liability." Leric said unkindly.

The elf's nasty expression brought clarity to her mind and with a quick tongue she uttered, "I am fine," she yanked her arm out of his grasp, "Let's go do our duty" the last word sounded dirty when she said it and the lingering wrongness of their group's situation sat uncomfortably in Fayne's chest.

The battle had begun soon after the party left for the tower. The challenging horns of the darkspawn were met with the thumping of shields and drums from the kings’ army. A sort of organized chaos issued after that and the group was soon some of the only people left in the encampment.

The closer Fayne got to the tower the harder her heart beat and the more sweat pooled on her skin. _I should not be here. We will all die in this Maker forsaken place!_  

Her thoughts turned to images of dead men, of the arrows that would soon protrude out of Leric’s body. It seemed as though her body took control of her mind and with lightning speed she turned tail and ran into the wild forest the bordered the camp.

 _Away. I must get away_!

She ignored the startled shouts from Alistair as she ran, she would let nothing would stop her. Fayne would run until her legs gave way and her breathing became unbearable, she would not get her revenge against Howe if she died in a tower.

Sliding to the left she sidestepped Alistar's attempt at grabbing for her middle, yet at the same time she found herself almost thrust into Leric's on coming form. She fell to the ground and into a sloppy roll to avoid the lunge he made for her. Lifting her body up, Fayne sprinted with all her might farther away from her death, the trees blew past her as she jumped swerved and dived. Without looking back, Fayne made a hard sharp right turn to avoid a large birch tree, it cost her seconds for she could tell the two men were hot on her trail.

Fayne found herself amazed at the sudden stamina she possessed,  _I guess you can do anything if you fear for your life_ , she thought as she ran through a clearing. It must have been at least an hour of her running and hiding from the other two. They had not given up yet and she grit her teeth in frustration, why couldn’t they just let her be?

Again she had to block an attempt from one of the men to catch her as she sprung up from her hiding place. However that last attempt at a doge left her breathless and unsteady causing her to trip on the hidden tree root. Her fall was made even harder when a body slammed into her lower back and pinned her to the ground.

"Making a run for it again princess? I tire of playing cat and mouse with you." Panting, Leric brushed against the side of her face as he bent down to talk into her ear. His dark braid tickled her eye, so Fayne tried to raise her head to avoid it, but as she did a gauntleted had thrust her face back into the hard packed dirt. "Your cowardliness sickens me! I don't even want to see your face." with that, Fayne felt him let go of her head and bind her hands behind her back. She had no energy nor will left to fight him, so she just lay in the dirt and let him finish. Even when he got off her back she stayed in her position blankly staring into nothingness.

_They don't understand. We were going to die, you should be thanking me!_

These thoughts screamed in her head, but Fayne knew that they would not understand or probably care, they only saw her as a deserter. The young warden, Alistair, lifted her by the hands and began walking her back towards the tower of Ishal, but little did he know it was already too late. The irony of the situation was simply too much for Fayne to handle, and a half sob half hysterical laugh came from her lips. It must have been odd sounding because it caused both men to stop and look at her like she had lost her mind. Perhaps she has? Perhaps she was just a crazy woman and this was all some sort of bizarre nightmare?

 


	12. Into the Wilds

Fayne stopped right behind the now stiff form of Alistair; she already knew what sight awaited them. Instead she studied the man in front of her, tilting her head as she did so. His armoured shoulders seemed to have sagged and the tip of his sword dropped into the dirt. The blond young man had taken a couple steps towards the bloody battle field, and then he seemed to have lost his nerve.

"It, can't be, it…" the young man's voice was fragile and desolate as he scanned the corpses of both his allies and enemies. Though the man at least had the strength of will not to fall on the ground weeping, Fayne got the distinct impression that something had shut down in the young man. To her great surprise, Leric, who had stayed silent up until that point, walked over to Alistair and said something to the man. She was too far away to hear it, but it roused him from his mourning.

As Leric walked away from the human, his green eyes locked with hers and she felt his distain. His eyes said it all; he hated her. She felt him harshly tug at the rope that bound her hands behind her back, and then a snap as they fell to the ground. She could feel his body heat as he stood there, watching her from behind. Answering his silent accusations, Fayne crossed her arms and turned to him, "There was nothing that we could have done to stop this." she waved her hand in a sweeping motion over the war-torn ground.

Leric said nothing as he continued to walk up to an old tree stump and then unceremoniously dump himself on to it. When he had gotten comfortable he tilted his head and regarded her, "You may have been powerless when it came to your brother, however we could have made some sort of difference here."

His words were like ice and they cut her right to the core. Her anger and grief caused her to lash out, "What would a stupid knife-ear like you know anyway?" She stormed up to him and pocked him in the chest, "You are an ignorant piece of forest trash! All you know is how to hunt and skin. You are more fit to be cleaning my boots than you are to lecture me on decision making. So keep your mouth shut you ignorant swine!" her last words rang out shrilly as he screamed at him.

Leric's face lost its cocky edge and instead rage was etched into his features.The ground beneath his boots gave way as he slowly brought himself to full height, which Fayne was disappointed to see was an inch taller than her. However, before he even had a chance to make a move, both of them froze. To Fayne it felt like a hundred spiders were crawling up her arms and back, and it came to center around her stomach. A strange hum filled her ears. Leric must have felt the same thing because he looked deeply disturbed.

"What—" But Alistair interrupted the elf before he could finish his sentence.

"Darkspawn, that is darkspawn you are feeling." Without making eye contact, Alistair heaved his sword and shield into a ready position. His face a calm determination mixed with the look of a lost puppy. Fayne found it sick to look at, so she turned her head into the direction Alistair was looking at. Her daggers glinted in the moon light as she spun them in agitation. This night was just getting better and better.

A moment of quiet was quickly overtaken by guttural laughter that filled the air. Other than the stirring taint within their bodies, that sound was the only warning they received before a group of darkspawn descended down upon them. For a moment all Fayne could do was stare at the creatures in front of her. They were gruesome and smelt disgusting and she felt true dread when a tall one made eye contact with her and then ran her way.

"Disgusting mother fuckers!" screamed Leric to her left. His voice alone was the only thing that snapped her out of her daze and she quickly dispatched the tall creature that had swung at her head.

Fayne found, much to her horror, that her and Leric moved in perfect rhythm; when he ducked she lunged, while he baited, she killed silently from behind. This phenomenon that was taking place baffled her, because she knew it was not on purpose on either of their parts.

"Urgh… I am sick of swords!" yelled Leric as he threw down a rusty sword he had been using and unstrapped the long Dalish bow from his back. Fayne could not help but watch in fascination as the tall elf man gracefully got his arrow at the ready. Extremely toned arms pulled the string taunt as he aimed at a short spawn heading for Alistair. Leric released his fingers and the arrow found its mark, it was a clear shot. Again and again he fired and Fayne wondered whether or not Leric was actually trying hard for he wore the most peaceful expression on his face she had ever seen. Back straight, legs flexed and strong with his braided hair swaying in the mild breeze, Leric looked like one of those men ladies at court so often swooned about from romance stories.

Scoffing, Fayne turned and hacked another creature clear in half, and dodged another swing for her middle. Blood sprayed in her face and she laughed out loud at how squishy the creatures really were.

"One...two, three…"she began to count the number dead by her hand as she danced from foe to foe. At one point her performance received a raised eyebrow from Leric.

"Leric have a little fun…we will be doing this the rest of our lives." the last part was said with more venom then mirth.

The skirmish did not last long and Fayne watched as Alistair beheaded the darkspawn with a staff. A movement caught her eye and before she could yell a warning, a half dead darkspawn launched itself at Leric while he was readjusting his bow.

"Ahhh" yelled Leric as the creature brought him to the ground. Fayne ran and stabbed the creature in the back and at the same time pushing it off of the elf.

"Are you alright?" Asked Fayne as she offered her hand

"I am fine." He got up, ignoring her hand, "it just caught me by surprise."

"We need to get moving, we…we won't find anything here." Alistiar's voice cracked at the last part and Fayne had to hide a snicker. She felt for him, Maker knew she could understand, but at that point her resentment for Duncan outweighed her guilt. However, since she was facing Leric, he had seen her expression and in response he frowned. The setting sun caught his sharp features and intricate tattoos in a wild sort of way, and only deepened his frown.

And so Fayne took her position in-between the two men as they made their way through the now surprisingly quiet Kacarni wilds. Alistair, being the most senior one, was able to explain how to properly avoid darkspawn when they got too near.

"Here, you feel the pull here." stated Alistiar as he pointed to his chest, "and then you can –I don't know-sort of feel the direction it is coming from. Then of course you go the opposite way." The man's earlier jovial attitude seemed to have returned again. However since Fayne did not reply to his instructions, he became brooding and sad again with his shoulders slumped and his face grim.

With the intensions of bring their guide out of his stupor, Fayne turned and touched the man on the arm, "What else can the taint do?"

She turned to look back at Leric, noticing that he had fallen silent, "Hey you. Are you listening to this, it might prove useful?"

About five feet behind her Fayne saw that Leric was lying on the ground clutching his side.  _When did he fall, I didn't even hear it. Wait what is wrong with him?_  Seeking an answer to her question, Fayne jogged over to Leric's form, her now bloody leather armour making squishing noises. Upon reaching his body she grasped his shoulder and pivoted him around,  _Holy maker when did he get injured?_  His whole side was covered in blood, but that was not the worst thing; Leric's usually tanned complexion was ghostly white and his skin held a sweaty sheen that promised the beginnings of shock.  _Stupid Elf!_ Fayne thought as she examined the body further and waving Alistair over to help her hoist the body up at the same time.

"When did he get hurt? Asked Alistair as he wrapped the almost unconscious elf over his shoulder.

Fayne looked up from her bandaging job, and wiped some blood off her hand along her thigh, "It must have happened when he was tackled by the darkspawn.” She tightened the bandage, but blood seeped past the cloth…this was a serious injury, “We have to find a place for him to rest, and it has to be warm."

"I think there are some caves about half a mile west, should we take him there?" Fayne was shocked at how quickly the junior warden deferred to her. Had he not been the one who was most trained, and had spent a number of days in the woods?

"Yes, let us go that way." Fayne and Alistair both dragged the limp form of Leric through the dirt. Surprisingly Fayne found that the elf was extremely solid and not light at all.

For about two hours Fayne and Alistair continued to carry the man, and she had yet to see a cave, or any place that could house one, "Are you sure this place actually exists?'

"Ahh...fairly sure..." came Alistiar's response, though he sounded anything but.

Fayne opened her mouth to respond, but closed it as she squinted through some dark trees," Do you see that, I think it is a hut." She pointed through the spruces about a yard away, "Yes it is a hut! Come on, we need to go there." still pointing Fayne looked to Alistair.

He nodded his head once and the boyish lines of his face were cast into a thoughtful frown, "Alright… but this could be dangerous Fayne. No sane person lives in the Kacarni wilds."

Fayne hoisted Leric a little more up her shoulder, "Well, Alistair, if it makes you feel any better I can just kill them if they show any sign of craziness." her words had the desired effect, the annoying boy-man had kept his mouth shut. And it stayed shut all the way to the hut.

Once Fayne had found a reasonable path through the shrubbery, it did not take long for the group to make it to the front entrance of the shack. For that was what is was; with old broken walls and rickety construction, the place seemed fit indeed for the mentally incapable.

Before either one of them could knock, the door swung open and an old women stepped out of the hut, "Hello Wardens. I have been expecting you."

 

 


	13. Strangers Offering Aid

_Well this is an interesting development_ , thought Fayne dryly as she looked at the woman in front of her.

It was getting dark, so it was hard to see any details, but the woman looked about Fayne’s height and very similar on stature.  She was wrapped in an old tattered shawl that only showed her eyes. And some eyes they were, they seemed wise and full of wisdom. Slightly unnerved by their golden colour, Fayne looked away as the old woman motioned for both her and Alistair to move into the shack. Rain dripped from her nose as Fayne stared at the woman’s back, trying –in vain-to deduce whether or not it was the best course of action to follow. However a pained moan from Leric reminded her they had little choice but to take the help offered by this mysterious individual.

While moving Leric onto the only bed in the room, Fayne caught a glimpse of Alistair's face, and it looked like he had eaten something rather foul. Once the elf was placed on the bed, Fayne found herself roughly pushed out of the way while the woman hovered over him. Jerking her head to the left Fayne motioned for Alistair to follow her to the furthest most corner of the room.

"What is wrong with you?" she hissed.

Alistair pursed his lips, "Nothing-I am not alright…” he looked past Fyane at the woman tending Leric. He gently took her upper arm and brought her to the furthest corner of the hut. “We have just put ourselves into a dangerous situation." He whispered as he looked back at the woman who was now applying a damp cloth to Leric's head.

With a sigh Fayne rested her head against the wooden wall, "Alistair, I am tired, covered in blood and in no mood for riddles. What are you implying exactly?"

Alistair was still ridged and Fayne noticed his hand was clenching the sword pommel at his waist, "That woman, she is an apostate!" he said the word like it was a curse.

Fayne had forgotten that Duncan had once mentioned a fellow warden about her age was a former Templar. She had rarely listened to Duncan during their travels and she began to wonder what else her grief stricken mental state had caused her to oversee.

"Well Alistair, there is not much we can do; Leric would have died if we had not sought help. And don’t you think that woman would have hurt us by now if she really wanted to?" Fayne drawled as she closed her eyes. She was starting to feel the physical ramifications of their previous fight with the darkspawn.

"Wise words for one so young. It seems a woman's mind is not so fearful that it falls prey to idle fancies."  came the stranger’s biting reply.  She fully straitened from tending Leric and turned to regard Fayne. Soon her piercing eyes lazily looked at Alistair and they flashed dangerously when she spotted his hand poised on his sword. "You can put your toy away young man; this woman was right when she said I mean you no harm."

"Was she also right about the fact that you could have killed us if you wanted to?" came Alistair's cautious words-the words of a Templar.

"Believe ever you want to. You can open your eyes wide or keep them closed shut." Cackling the woman removed the shawl that covered her face and put it around her shoulders.

Fayne would have laughed out loud at the look on Alistair's face when he beheld the ‘old’ woman's visage if she wasn’t so tired. Instead of finding the face of an old wrinkled woman, the pair looked upon the face of a woman in her mid-twenties, no older than herself. Midnight black hair was tied in a strange fashion behind her head and her top barely covered her ample breasts. She looked like one of those wild Chasind beauties that knights would rescue in the stories Nan would tell her. A pang stabbed her heart when she thought of her old nurse-maid, but she quickly pushed it down.

Alistair’s face was beat red and he quickly averted his eyes from then ow, more significantly more bared woman. Rolling her eyes, Fayne pushed up from the wall and yawned, "Well, I must say you are not expecting what I was expecting to see under that shawl of yours."

Fayne received a raised eyebrow and a twisted lip in a wry smile, "My dear, people are rarely who we think they are. But enough of this banter, I will leave you and your fellow Warden to rest.”

"Wait…why do you refer to us as if we are younger than you, we are almost the same age." That question had been bugging her ever since the woman had removed her shawl and revealed her youth. Really she sounded just like her nan and grandmother, but she could be no older than 25 years.

The Chasind mage stopped at the doorway and turned so that Fayne could make out the smile she now wore, "Are we? Well…silly me. I had quite forgotten how young I was." with that the woman moved into the other room and shut the door behind her.

“Did you _hear_ that?” asked Alistair incredulously. “What type of crazy woman forgets how old they are?”

“Perhaps the type that are willing to open their doors to blood soaked strangers?” replied Fayne.

"Yes, yes. This is all very accommodating and nice of the scary witch-lady. But I still do not trust that woman." Alistair had taken position beside her allowing Fayne to see his tired state.

"I know you don't, but we are where we are, there is no point in regrets. Here take the floor and sleep for a while." said Fayne as she made her way to were Leric was lying and she sat on the bed.

"Alright I will sleep for a couple of hours, and then we will switch, I don't trust that woman." mumbled Alistair as sleep gripped him. Fayne smirked at his eloquent use of words and his absurdly loud snoring.

She turned and looked at Leric, who now wore a content expression. The woman had done very good work because it did not even look like the elf had suffered a great wound and infection. Still Fayne found herself needlessly worried and it bugged her, the feeling causing her to frown in annoyance. With a huff and a shake of the head, Fayne untied her long red hair and let it fall in waves around her, it was nice to let her scalp relax.  _I'll just rest my eyes for a while; we are safe here, for now._

A flash of white and then a streak of purple. That was the only warning Fayne received before her mind was assaulted with images after images of people fighting and dying. She thought for a moment that she was remembering, but when the scenes froze and she overheard conversations that she could not remember, she knew that these were visions.

A man with medium length hair turned and looked at her, "Are they all gone Warden? Have the undead been dealt with?"

Fayne squinted against the hazy light, she recognized this man and his name was on the tip of her tongue. She opened her mouth to respond, but as she did so a painful spike went through her head. She gripped it and let out a pained moan. The man turned into a swirl of colours and she found herself no longer in a castle, but now standing in a forest surrounded by armed elves who were yelling at her in a strange tongue.

The dream-sun shone bright in her face and she closed her eyes at its brightness. When she opened them she was in a large hall, sitting in a soft chair. She looked up and saw a man who closely resembled Alistair sitting opposite to her drinking wine and looking pale. He looked up then-the man who looked like Alistair -and then asked her, "Was it right to place me as king, maybe I should have said no and let Anora - ,"

Fayne jerked upright and gasped, her erratic breathing the only noise in the small hovel. Placing her hand to her throat she could feel her heart beating like running horse. She stood up and turned completely around surveying the room,  _I am back,_  she thought with shaking hands,  _but…what WAS that?_  It was a terrifying development, this new clarity of her future seeing dreams. That last image, it had been so sharp that she could still feel the heat of the fire place.

Eager to shake the creepy feeling that had overtaken her senses, Fayne wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and opened the outside door. Night was still strong and the stars were clear and bright, the rain had long ceased. The apostate woman from earlier was sitting in front of a fire, and mustering her courage Fayne sat across from her.

"I… didn't get a chance to thank you earlier for your hospitality. My name is Fayne and it is a pleasure to meet you." She inclined her head and stared at the woman with raven hair and yellow eyes.

"My… that is a civil greeting, even out here in the wilds. You may call me Morrigan." Morrigan’s eyebrow lifted, "And may I ask, young warden, why you are up at this hour?"

Fayne brought the covers up higher frowning at the 'young' part, "I could not sleep." She starred at the flames and refused to elaborate.

"Ah… I see. Or do  _you_  see? Yes it seems you do." Morrigan paused, "Does the future worry you Warden? Are the dreams too heavy of a burden?" mocked Morrigan as she leaned closer to Fayne.

Fayne was sure her eye betrayed the shock she felt, _How does she know what I can see?_

As if answering her unsaid question Morrigan leaned back, "I saw you sleeping and watched your restless movements. ‘What does she see' I asked myself, 'What could she possibly be doing' and then I knew, could recognize the signs of your condition." Morrigan chuckled, "You are no mage, but your connection to the fade is impossibly strong."

With every word the woman muttered, Fayne felt her body tighten, ready to pounce. If need be, she had no problem ridding the world of a person who knew her secret. Who was this apostate and how could she possibly _recognize_ Fayne’s abilities? As Fayne’s hand dropped to the dagger on her waist, Morrigan raised her hand in a placating manner.

"Enough Warden.” Her voice was no longer mocking, but slow and calm, “Perhaps I went about the wrong way in offering you aid."

"And how could _you_ possibly help me?" spat Fayne.

"I am an apostate aren’t I? Full of terrible knowledge and intent…” Morrigan laughed at her own words as she waved her hands, “Over the years of my existence I have heard of others who were afflicted by such visions. I wish to help you see your visions clearer so that they may be of use to you. Or if you so desire it, I can aid in ending them."

Fayne watched the fire as it carved shadows against the high cheek bones on the young woman. Should she take the help offered? And more importantly, why was this woman willing to give it?

"I will wait for your response in the morning Warden, until then" with feline grace, Morrigan stood up and started for the hut.

As she was about to enter, Fayne shouted, "Wait!" she got up and walked over to the witch, "Why do you want to help me? I am a total stranger to you."

For a moment Morrigan seemed to be considering her words, "Because Warden, in the end it helps me to give you aid. You stop the blight and I live; I dislike the prospect of dying."

Fayne stepped back as the woman entered the hut and closed the door behind her. Resuming her position in front of the fire, Fayne roughly pulled her hands through her hair. What was she going to do?

 


	14. Lothering

"Lothering, pretty as a rose" came Alistair's sarcastic remark.  The group approached the highway which bordered the far eastern side of the town. Banter, senseless banter especially from Alistair, was all that Fayne had heard since leaving Morrigan's house seven days before.

The town was not what Fayne had expected. How could they possibly hope to find supplies in such a panicked and dusty little town? Half the people seemed to be gone, and all their belongs with them.

"T'is a shame your insights could not have helped us earlier. This …place seems less than useful to us now." Morrigan's little mouth curved into a smile that oddly reminded Fayne of a scythe.

Morrigan turned to Fayne then, and the smile widened, into full grin. Fayne wondered whether it was directed and Alistair or at herself; she never forgot how much the women knew about her…gift.

"The human is right, this town feels wrong." Leric said from her right. Even though he had been severely injured, he insisted on being at the front with her. Fayne's chapped lips frowned as she looked at Leric in her periphery. He was right, she knew, but the way he seemed to say it made the town look more morose than it had before.

She motioned for Alistair and Morrigan to move ahead into town. Fayne waited as they passed before she spoke to Leric, "You look better” she leaned her hip on the wooden fence as she eyed him, “I was afraid you were going to die." Even though it had almost been a week since Leric's close run in the darkspawn, Fayne had been unable to talk to him alone. He had avoided them all, keeping to his own tent and insisting that he take watch alone. Now she had her chance to actually talk to him, she still felt guilty about their last argument. She did not view herself as a racist and the things that she had said to him had been uncalled for.

"You were  _afraid_  that I would die?" his voice was incredulous, "I think you meant to say that you were afraid that I was going to live." Leric stood apart from her and crossed his arms.

Her irritation flared, "No - I was not mistaken!" she had to clench her teeth to fight back the urge to yell. She was trying to apologize, not start an argument with him, "I realize what I said earlier was…improper, this I understand."

"You understand do you?" he repeated dryly. He uncrossed his arms and walked around her to the other side of the fence.

Following him with her eyes, Fayne sucked in a breath, "I am…I am …sorry for the terms in which I addressed you." It was like pulling a ring from the mud; the apology was thick in her mouth.

For a moment Leric stood very still against the railing as his hands worked the wood. He did not look at her and Fayne began to wonder if he had heard a thing she said. In the distance she could hear the noise of Lothering, plaintive cries of children and the murmurs of scared labourers. Finally after a thoughtful pause, Leric turned to look at Fayne in the eyes. An emotion she count not identify lingered in his gaze. Was it anger? Or maybe forgiveness?

"We will talk later." He ordered.

Gazing at him incredulously, she snapped her mouth shut. That was not the response she was expecting. Usually, being dismissed was a peeve of hers, for she was a Cousland and only the royal family had enough power to dismiss her so casually. But something in his tone made her rethink pushing then issue. She expected that he would have some words for her later on. So Fayne nodded her agreement and turned towards the town.

She trotted to catch up with Alistair and Morrigan who loitered near the entrance to town, "Let’s go, maybe we will find some supplies here."

"I must say I am surprised" Morrigan's voice echoed from behind the group, "Why are you in the lead, t'is it not true that Alistair is the most senior Warden here?"

“Hey! That is not fair, I am –,”

Alistair was interrupted by Leric,"Witch, why do you assume that this Shem is in the lead?"

"Why?" another rhetorical question from Morrigan, "Do you believe that limping behind Fayne is a sign of leadership. Because if it is, you are an excellent commander."

Of course this led to more thinly fielded insults between Morrigan and Leric. She must have bored playing with Alistair and decided to move to her next target.  _Why can't she just leave us alone,_ Fayne had a feeling that Morrigan secretly was trying to tear apart the group. The apostate sure had an ability to destroy the thin bonds that held them together.

Swiftly turning around, Fayne decided that she had had enough, "Stop, please." she meant to sound commanding, but it came out as a meek request. All three of her companions turned to look at her; a frown on Leric, a raised brow from Morrigan, and of course the goofy half smile that so often graced Alistair's lips.

Alistair turned to Leric, “Did she…did she just say _please_?” he let out a startled laugh

Utterly fed up with both men, Fayne pointed to a dingy tavern on the far side of the village, "Leric, Alistair could you two _please_ go and find some information about the situation of this village.

"And what of me?"

"Morrigan, you can come with me to get some supplies. I heard that mages need lyrium, and I don’t know where nor how much to obtain for you."

Morrigan huffed, "Your small knowledge of mages is true, but I highly doubt a …village such as this will have such things. Nevertheless I shall accompany you."

The two groups split up without further comments, Fayne silently said a payer to the Maker for letting her commands go unquestioned. What Morrigan brought up earlier was a sound question. Why was she, a girl barely into womanhood, leading an order she knew nothing about? And what of Leric, he must be at least a couple years older than she? Did his hate for her race stretch so far as for him to not want to take command of their entourage?

* * *

 

**Leric POV**

The tavern smelt of human piss and sweat. His nose flared as a barrel chested man pushed him aside dragging a large bosomed woman to the stairs. It seemed even in the calamity that was most likely to occur, the Shems had no problem rutting like animals.

"Soooo…who do you think we should ask first?" asked Alistair as he came to stand beside him. Leric tensed, he really did not like Alistair.

"I don't know, I have never been in a place such as this." He bit out.

Alistair looked over and crossed his arms, "You know, I can understand your attitude with Fayne, but we are both Wardens now, you can call me Alistair. There doesn’t need to be this animosity between us."

Something in the way Alistair said Fayne's name caught his attention. Leric could not put his finger on it, but there was some sort of meaning the man associated with her name, his utterance of it was not of a neutral person.

So caught up in his thinking, Leric failed to realize that an angry man was addressing the two of them, "E'y you's there, you be Wardens then?" the half-drunk man swayed a little as he sloppily pulled out a sword, "There be a price on your head, Loghain said you left the king to die."

Of course Alistair’s bumbling would get them into this situation. Leric fingered the feathers of the arrows on his back, _too small of a place to draw a bow;_ he let his hand drop to the long dagger at his hip. It was for hunting, that was true, but in the end it gutted humans just as well as it gutted deer.

"What are you talking about man?" Alistair too had noticed the others standing and making a formation behind the other. Two against six, the odds were not in their favour.

"I be talking 'bout killin ya."

"Such language is not needed sir, please let us put down our blades and reconsiders the choices here." A light feminine voice sounded from Leric's shoulder, and as he looked down he saw a shock of red hair. _Her hair is the same colour as Cousland girl’s_ , slightly alarmed at how quickly his thought went to Fayne, Leric continued to assess the pretty face of the Chantry sister. Her hands were clasped in front of her, and her small mouth had a friendly smile.

"Sister, stay out of this. This matter is for us to deal with." for once, Alistair's tone took on some semblance of authority as he quickly glanced at the young woman.

However that glance acted as a signal for the men to lunge, two came at Alistair, three for Leric and one waited in the wings egging his men on. As quick as a fox, Leric stabbed the first human in the gut and then spun the man around, cutting his tendons in the calf. A noise to his right alerted him that a sword was coming for his head, so he ducted, and kicked out with all his might. As Leric went to land the killing blow, the soldier lurched forward with a knife jutting out of his neck.

Standing behind the choking man was the lay sister. She was an image of serenity, but covered in blood and holding a wicked looking dagger. She looked back at Leric’s shocked face and winked. Behind her lay the bodies of two more dead men.

Deciding that now was the best time to take their leave of the tavern, Leric walked over to Alistair and slanted his head towards the door. Both of them headed out into the cool air, it was refreshingly sweet against the sweat that beaded the rim of his forehead.

"Is it true what they said? Both of you are Wardens?" the Orlesian accent drifted behind them and Alistair turned and regarded the lady.

"Yes sister, I am Alistair and he is Leric, we are both Wardens."

  
She sucked in an excited breath, "Oh, the Maker has truly blessed me! I was hoping that you would come here. My name, monsieur, is Leliana."

Leric rolled his eyes at the woman’s eagerness, "We have things to do," he pulled on Alistair's armoured shoulder.

"WAIT!" Leliana ran up to him, "I was sent by the Maker to assist you, I must come with you. Don’t you see I can help with the blight"?

The more she went on, the less he thought her sane, “I don't have time for crazy people; unlike the Chantry I do NOT do charity," He pushed past her pouting face.

Alistair rubbed the back of his neck, and amused smile on his face, "Maybe we should ask Fayne?”

“Why?” he bit out

Alistair eyed Leliana, “I just…she was pretty good with a blade. Maybe we should just see what Fayne thinks of her.”

Leric rounded on Alistair, "So what, are we taking in crazies now too?"

* * *

 

**Fayne POV**

Morrigan stared at the beast in the cage, "The Qunari are a proud people, Warden. Fierce fighters."

Fayne idly picked at her grieves, considering the man in front of her. He was large and unequivocally intimating – even behind iron bars, “You think that we should him?”

The Qunari had been silently watching her, utterly unmoved. Surely it could understand them, or its position? She was a little unnerved by him and tentatively took a step forward, “There must be a reason for him being here."

Fayne could practically _feel_ Morrigan rolling her eyes, "It would be prudent to ask him. It would be wasteful though, for us to leave him like this, you and I both know what is coming."

Fayne hadn’t realized Morrigan was so…practical - it might have something to do with the ridiculous outfit she traipsed around in.

There did not seem to be any guards around, and as she peared arund the cage, it seemed no one had been tending to the Qunari. They were going to let it die of exposure, but of course the darkspawn would get him first.

What to do….what to do? When she woke today, she surely did not expect this situation. She pondered her choices; she could kill the Qunari, let him free, or enlist him.

 "What are you in here for Qunari?"

No response.

Huffing she repeated herself, a little more harshly this time, “Why are you locked in this cage?”

He looked at her then and showed no remorse, "I was captured when I killed a family."

Fayne's mouth went dry, she opened and then closed it, her words coming out like a whisper, "Who did you kill first, the children or their parents?" she gripped the bars until her knuckles went white. _Do I want to know?_

"The parents, it is obvious. The ones who pose the greatest threat must be eliminated first." Again he replied with a stoic tone and icy glare.

 _Eliminated first,_ his words, though simply said, twisted in her head accompanied by the sound of swords and fire. The men who killed her family morphed into the image of the huge Qunari man in front of her. Their crimes became his crimes, and without thought Fayne unhooked the dagger from her waste and plunged it into the man's side.

He made a grunting noise and then slumped to the floor of the cage. Fayne watched as his blood made a path down his muscled body, like a river. Standing back abruptly, she bent down and began to scrub the blood off her dagger with the sandy earth.

Her hands shook as she cleaned her blade on the grass. What had she just done? She did not even remember pulling the dagger out, didn’t remember reaching through the bars. One moment she was trapped in the fiery inferno of her home, and the next she was killing the Qunari man.

It was troubling.

Morrigan was unamused, "It is always nice to see one's leader act in such a rational way."

Fayne stilled her cleaning and clutched her dagger in her sweaty palms. For a split second she weighed her ability to kill Morrigan without her letting off one of her lethal spells. Her thoughts must have shown on her face, for when Fayne looked up, Morrigan wore a dangerous smile full of sharp teeth and even sharper gaze. Once again she felt like she was being stripped bare, that Morrigan could somehow see everything that was going on inside her.

Those golden eyes…there was something about them that Fayne couldn’t put her finger on.

Male voices accompanied by an Orlesian female accent made her head whip up. _What is an Orlesian doing in backwater Lothering?_

It was not long before the two men, who turned out to be her fellow wardens, and a red headed woman arrived in front of the cage.

"What happened here?" of course Alistair would ask about the dead Qunari at the bottom of the cage.

Fayne stood up, brushed the dust of her knees. Alistair looked at her and then the cage, his eyes lingered on the blood, "I put him out of his misery, Alistair. He was going to be left for the darkspawn."

She didn't wait for his reply, rather she brushed past him and his open mouth, to stand in front of the woman,"Who are you?" hands on her hips, Fayne was the picture of nobility dressed in second rate armour. The irony was not lost on her.

The woman's eyes tightened a fraction, but other than that she responded with perfect politeness, "My name is Leliana." a wistful smile graced Leliana's face.

" _Yes_ …" drawled Leric, "Apparently the Maker has sent her here to help us against the blight."

Fayne looked at the young woman with a raised brow.

"Yes what he said is true," she raised her hands in a pacifying way, "But you must believe me, the Maker sent me dreams of the blight and told me I could be of help. Ask these two fine men, I can fight as well as they." She ended in a huff, her cheeks slightly pink.

Fayne was about to cast the woman off as crazy, but Leliana's last admission stilled her tongue. _She said she dreamt of this, what does she mean by that?_  She knew enough to know that the maker was most likely not the source of her dreams, but could Leliana have the same problem as her? Maybe, but maybe not. Help was help though, and if the woman could fight then it was worth the risk.

"Leliana, is it?" Fayne rolled her shoulders, "You can come with us for now, but if you could refrain from comments about the Maker, it would be nice."

Morrigan let out a soft chuckle, "You would put more stock in dreams, wouldn't you girl."

 

* * *

 

"I am going to go get some wood, it is freezing out here." Stated Alistair as he threw his pack on the ground with a thud.

"Oh I think I will go hunting then, wait Alistair, I'll accompany you." Leliana sprung up and grabbed her short bow. Gone was he lay sister's robe, instead she now wore light green leather armour with studs along the sides. Her bow bobbed against her back as she ran ahead of Alistair into the darkening woods.

For a while Fayne just sat on the ground staring after the pair, wondering when they would be back. Her stomach gave a loud noise and she laid her hand on top of it to still the rumble.  _Another bonus to wearing the mantle of the grey wardens,_ she thought _._  Her morose feelings were interrupted by Leric unceremoniously sitting crossed legged in front of her.

For a breathless moment, all she could do was stare at the elf's golden chest. He had untied the strings of his shirt earlier and it graced her with the perfect view of his chiselled torso.

"I think we should finish our earlier conversation."

Fayne moved her roaming eyes away from Leric’s chest as she looked at him with a frown. Who did this elf think he was? She was not a mabari to be dismissed and summoned whenever it pleased the owner.

She glanced at him, clearly unimpressed, "I was not aware there was more to say.”

His lip curled back a little, exposing some teeth. It an annoyed voice he said, “You are being an insufferable woman.”

She snorted, “I suppose I should be please. The mighty Dalish elf has decided to grace me with the title of ‘woman’ rather than ‘shem’.”

Growling, Leric leaned forward, “I have a name.”

“And so do I!”

Her sudden exclamation had shocked both herself and Leric into silence. The fire popped loudly as a log fell into the pit and reflected off of the elf’s eyes. She sighed heavily; this day just seemed so long; like it was never going to end.

Her mother was probably rolling in her grave somewhere. Cousland’s were not supposed to be brash, or so reactive. They were the planners, the thinkers…always two steps ahead of everyone else. And look where she was, sitting in the damp dirt like some peasant and arguing with an elf. She almost laughed at the madness of it all.

Fayne rubbed her eyes, “You must forgive me….this day was very taxing for me. Shall we start this conversation over?” she tried to sound lighter, but only came out sounding as tired as she felt.

“I ‘ _must’_ forgive nothing.”

Fayne lowered her hand and stared at Leric, startled by his response, “I beg your pardon?”

Leric looked at her with an unreadable expression, “You may beg for my pardon, but as of now I am not inclined to give it.” his words were utterly condescending, but was she hearing things, or was there a teasing edge to them?

Fayne crossed her arms, “Must you take everything I am saying at face value? I don’t mean these phrases _literally,_ they are used as social niceties.” She paused and looked him p and done, “Though I supposed the concept would be lost on your kind.”

Leric peered at her intently, seeming to be thinking rather hard about something, “ _My kind,_ she says…” his words were quiet, almost a whisper. “You don’t have a very high regard for elves, do you Fayne?”

She stared at him, thrown by both the subject change and the fact that he had said her name. “Why…” she cleared he throat, “why would you think that?”

“Let me see…” Leric lifted his hand and started ticking off fingers, “First, you have the audacity to insult my intelligence at Ostagard. Second, you paraded around Lothering like you owned the place and then thought you could order me around. And third, well you had no problem calling me a ‘knife ear’ earlier, and I am sure it was not the first time you had used that _wonderfully descriptive_ term; you didn’t even hesitate. Oh, and let us not forget that just a second ago you assumed that my ‘people’ were so stupid that they could not possibly grasp the simple concept of social etiquette.”

Fayne’s face burned in anger. She could feel the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks and she had to take a deep breath to prevent any tears. It had always frustrated her how she always wanted to cry when she was angry – it was a knee-jerk reaction to her frustration levels. And she was incredibly frustrated right now.

With watering eyes she looked up at him, “HOW dare y-,”.  Leric lifted a hand and Fayne fell silent.

“I am tired as well and it is very late. All I wanted to do was to finish our conversation from earlier, not get into another heated argument with you.”

Well that was rich coming from the man who just called her racists. How could he expect her to take that sort of statement and not fight back? She had never treated any of the Highever elves poorly; even her closet hand maiden was an elf. At the sudden thought of her Ninna, Fayne’s breath caught. What had happened to her friend? She doubted Howe had let any of the castle staff go freely. She only hoped that he had found use for some of the servants rather than kill them all.

Her eyes stung sharply as a couple tears traced across her dirty face. She angrily swiped them away, “I am not racists – I don’t hate elves.” she whispered.

After a long pause, Leric lowered his voice. His eyes had lost some of their iciness as he regarded her tear steaked face, “Perhaps…not.” He let out a puff of breath and Fayne watched as it caused grey clouds in the night air – It was slowly getting colder outside. “Tell me something, did you have many servants at your home?”

“Yes…of course.”

“Were many of them elves?”

Fayne could see where Leric was going with this train of thought, “Yes. Yes most of our servants were elves. But our elves were fed and offered a safe place to stay, our alienages were the most smoothly run places in Ferelden – no disease, and very little crime. I never had a problem with any elf and I treated each member of our house with respect! It did not matter to me if my servant was human or elf…they all were treated equally.”

Leric flashed her crooked smile at her emphatic response, “But they were servants were they not? Of course you treated the elves the same way you treated your human servants and of course you never had any problems with elves. It was because they all always _served_ your family. I doubt any elf has ever even talked back to you before, or ever argued a point against you, have they?”

Fayne considered Leric’s question, had any servant (human or otherwise) ever argued against her. The answer was a resounding no.

Leric must have seen her epiphany because he left out a joyless chuckle, “So you see? You may not hate elves, but you don’t see us at the same level as you. You have no problem with those of us who bow our heads and say ‘yes my lady’, but the minute you face resistance, the minute one of us looks you square in the eye and challenges you, that is when problems start to occur.”

Fayne tightened her arms around her body, trying to shield herself from Leric words. Was he right about her? Had she really been this skewed in her thinking this entire time? Fyane tried to recall a time she had ever been argued with by an elf, but found she could not recall. Ninna was comfortable with Fayne; they teased and gossiped together, but looking back Fayne could see how Ninna always acquiesced to either her demands, or her mother’s requests.

Fayne felt hot and nauseous just thinking about the possibility of Leric being right, “I…please excuse me.” _I need to get out of here...I just need space to breath._

Leric shot up and grabbed her wrist as she attempted to leave, “We are still not done here.”

Tired, hungry and hurt, Fayne let out groan of frustration, “I already apologized in Lothering and rather than having a civil conversation, you ignore me."

"There, you are very wrong," he pinched the bridge of his nose and gestured with his other hand not holding her wrist, "Your apology was not enough. This conversation is not enough – when you disrespect a Dalish hunter like you did earlier…well we take such things very seriously."

Fayne looked away “ I am very tire Leric, can we just leave it alone.”

Leric pulled Fayne back down into a sitting position, “I am tired too. There are much better ways to spend an evening than arguing with a stubborn woman. But, this animosity between us is getting in the way of our duties. I demand reparation for the wrong against me, and then…then I will be willing to work alongside you.”

Duty was something Fayne could understand. The concept had been shoved down her throat with a silver spoon her entire life. Perhaps she needed to do this, to lower herself before Leric in humility so that they could work effectively in the future. Morrigan was already a dividing force in their small group, she needed to be able to trust and rely on a capable ally. Leric could be this person.

"I agree…tell me what you need from me.”

Leric let go of her wrist and leaned back, resting his hands on the dirt, "When a person is wronged by another, they have a right to ask something of that person to the extent of the wrong done. I believe you humans have a saying such as 'an eye for an eye'"

Fayne nodded once again a little afraid of where the conversation was going. _What is he going to ask me to do, cut an arm off or something?_

"Well if you want my forgiveness then you are going to have to do something with me."

It felt like a stone had fallen in her stomach,  _so much like Thomas,_  "What…what would you have me do?"

He paused and looked her in the eye. For a moment he looked alarmed and then it was replaced with a wry smile, "Don't worry Cousland, I won't ask you to sacrifice your honour," he looked like he was on the verge of laughter, but Fayne did find it funny.

 _Little do you know, Leric, I already gave up that honour._ She shifted uneasily in the armour she had bought with that very same honour.

"You were insulting to my people. I would have you do something that is an important part of our culture." Continued the elf.

"And what would that be? I can hunt if you are asking."

"No. I do not want you to hunt, I want you to get Vallaslin, or in your tongue, blood- writing."

"YOU WANT ME TO WHAT?" Fayne stood up and paced a view feet away while fingering her face tenderly, "Let me get this straight, you want me to get a tattoo and without it you will not forgive me. Am I right?"

He leaned back with a hint of a laugh in his voice, “Yes you are. However, I never said you had to get it on your face." this time Fayne could clearly hear the mirth in his voice.

At his words, she dropped her hand to her side and rolled her eyes, "Fine." When she thought about humility, it certainly did not involve getting a tattoo, but she supposed the consequences could have been worse – could have been more demeaning. Leric was the only person in their group who could pose a threat for control; she wanted him as an ally, not a rival. If this was what it took to get him to work with her, rather than against her, than Fayne would do it.

Incredulous, Leric replied, "Fine?"

"Yes, Leric, I'll get this…blood writing of yours." She wanted to prove to him that her venomous words earlier were not her true thoughts of the Dalish, and that she was strong enough to conquer anything he threw at her. "When and where will it be done?"

A pause then Leric clapped his hands together. This had to have been the happiest Fayne had ever seen him, "Excellent! I will give you a week to decide what you want and then I will perform the blood writing ritual."

"You're doing this?"

"Why yes I am. Is there a problem with that?" he smirked and pretended to glance around camp. He even bent down and lifted his bed roll off the ground, peering under it. When he was through with his fake investigation he stood up with a cheeky grin, “I see no other Dalish around here to do it.”

She was thoroughly confused at this moment. Not only was Leric actually smiling and holding a civil conversation with her, but he seemed to be…oddly playful, “No…I will let you know in a week what I want."

Morrigan sauntered up to the pair with her trade-mark smirk, "It seems the dim-witted one and the crazy woman are back with some deer."

True enough Leliana was skipping beside Alistair as he carried a rather scrawny looking deer towards the camp. "The Maker gives aid in his own small ways." She murmured

Fayne watched as Leric shoved the woman away from the deer and started skinning it, "I don't want you wasting what little meat you caught." was his excuse.

That evening Fayne ate the dullest venison she had ever had in her life. There was no flavour in the stew; it was just a hunk of meat sitting in its own fatty juices. But it didn't stop her from devouring the animal as if it might spring from her hands. Any embarrassment she would have usually felt disappeared the moment she saw her two fellow wardens eating as barbarically as she.

After finishing her 'meal' Fayne stood up and stretched, "Tomorrow we will leave for Redcliff, Leliana would you mind taking first watch?" The woman smiled at being given something constructive to do and Fayne wondered whether the woman was who she said she was,  _what lay sister has such skills as she?_  But fatigued caused her to care little about things that did not directly involve her and the hard packed dirt she know called bed. The other three likewise stood and left to their respective tents.

* * *

 

Bright purple swirled around her naked form as she stood on sodden ground. Voices, sweet voices, sang their wonton songs to her about death and defilement. With a strange urge Fayne found herself following a path through black bushes and dead trees. Suddenly she found herself dressed in bloodied armour standing beside Leric and Alistair; they too looked confused and disoriented.

"Where—," but Fayne was cut off by a loud wail that rumbled the ground below her feet. It started out like a thousand voices screaming and then it slowly turned into a beastly rumble. A head like a twisted snake slithered down from the sky and hurled purple fire at the trio.

_A dragon!_

Fayne quickly covered her head with her hands and screamed. Fear like none she had ever known, gripped her insides. She expected to burn, to feel the agony of the purple flames. Instead of feeling the blighted fire, she felt a cool breeze on her back. Slowly unfurling her arms, Fayne took in her environment. Leric and Alistair along with the dragon were gone, and in their wake was a path with a large tree in the middle.

This place was different; it did not reek of death. There were no voices and songs, instead it was a dreamlike reality Fayne knew well. Immediately she knew she was in a vision, though its interruption of her blight sickness nightmare was highly unusual.

"The wardens die here!" came a yell from a man in the distance. She could tell he was blond, and guessing by his build, he was an elf. Other than that she could make out no more details, the more she tried the more he seemed to blur and slip away.

Her name was being shouted by someone… " _Fayne, Fayne, FAYNE_!"

Fayne turned to look at the horrified face of Alistair as he stood in the clearing, gore covering his armour. A loud crack caused her to whip her head towards the tree in front of her. She only got a quick glimpse of its falling form before all the light was smothered.

Fayne surged into a sitting position, clutching her racing heart. Sweat dripped of her chin and along her breasts as she struggled to get her breathing back to normal.  _I died, I have never DIED before._

"Fayne are you alright?" She didn't realize how she missed the two men in her tent before, but there they were. Alistair stood over her with a concerned look on his face while Leric squatted by the entrance to her tent. He too looked oddly disturbed.

"What are you doing in my tent?" her voice cracked with unshed emotion.

"What do you mean? You were screaming gibberish and thrashing around." he looked back to Leric, "We were worried because both of us had awoken from the archdemon, but you were still stuck in the fade." His eyes, like Leric's, sported bluish dark circles.

"That…creature was the archdemon?"

"Yes, I guess I forgot to tell you that besides ravenous hunger, grey wardens also dream about darkspawn and in times of a blight, the archdeamon itself. Think of it like a gift that keeps on giving." His humour was sorely misplaced at the moment and his smile fell into one of a thoughtful frown. "Are you sure you are alright, I know seeing the archdeamon for the first time is downright terrifying."

"I am fine, I just need some air."

 _Your dragon is the least of my worries,_  thought Fayne as she excited her tent. She shivered as the cold air hit her soaked back. She forced a smile to get both men to leave her alone and once they had tuned back to the fire she slowly walked into the forest.

At the sight of the closest stump, she sat herself down and ran her shaking hand through her red hair. It stuck together creating twisted strands.

"I see you have had another dream then." Morrigan's voiced startled Fayne so much that she jumped into a standing position.

"How do you know that?"

"Well t'was just an observation.  Your actions, to those thoroughly informed such as myself, clearly show your gift."

"They are not a gift Morrigan! I can't control them, nor do I understand them half the time." whispered Fayne as she sat down once again. "They are becoming too strong now, I fear they might carry me away one day."

 Morrigan stood there and watched as the woman ran her hand through her hair once again.

* * *

 

**Morrigan POV**

_Foolish girl, she has what only one other has had in a millennia, and she calls it a curse. What a fool!_  However Morrigan had long ago learned that her thoughts were best left unsaid so she kept her mouth shut.

Watching the girl struggle with her grasp on reality was disgustingly sickening. _Such power in such a weak vessel, she is not even a mage._

A presence behind her made her tilt her head to the side slightly; the very same presence had been trailing them for the past week. Once, when no one had been looking, she had transformed into a crow and found the man who was following them.

She had felt a templars’ signature spirit, but he seemed to be unconnected to the Chantry. Or at least this Templar was not following any directive currently. For several days she had been toying with the idea of letting her precious warden know of the 'guest', but she thought it might hinder her plans for the girl.

"You should go back before the others start asking question." She watched as Fayne raised her head and she was satisfied to see tears on the woman's skin.

"Fine, I'll see you at camp Morrigan." she shuffled through the young trees and Morrigan waited until she could no longer see the silhouette of Fayne.

"Why don't you come out now boy, I have known of your presence for some time." Said Morrigan in a conversational tone, the man was close enough for her to not have to raise her voice.

Silence was her only answer, "Fine, be a coward, but know this," she turned to where she knew the man stood, "If you interferer... I will hunt you down and destroy you. I can assure you that however much you want the girl, I want her more." Without waiting for a reply the witch turned her back to the hidden man and returned to camp.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, don't own any of these works as games belong to BioWare.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first story in the Resurrection Series, set in the Dragon Age Origin timeline. Will eventually end up AU with dark themes, character death and old-gods' creepiness.
> 
> After a two year hiatus on fic-writing, this is a revamp of the previous version of Deals We Make (uploaded elsewhere)


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